


Remnants

by quantum_leek



Series: Shattered Dreams [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action, Angst, Anti-Villain, Background Relationships, Corruption, Daemonhunter Iris, Dark, Death Wish, Disillusionment, Drama, F/M, Gen, Gods, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Negative Character Arc, Ring of the Lucii, Starscourge (Final Fantasy XV), Sympathetic Villain, Tragedy, fall from grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 75
Words: 197,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum_leek/pseuds/quantum_leek
Summary: This is not a happy ending. This is not the struggle until dawn. This is 10 years of falling further into darkness.After bidding farewell to her twin brother, Reina Lucis Caelum is resigned to surviving ten long years of darkness awaiting his return, but with the rest of the royal line gone, all of Eos seems determined to dump Lucis in her lap: crown, ring, and all. It's a shame that no one thought to mention her estranged ancestor with an affinity for daemons who seems to know more about her than she does, herself.





	1. The Ring of the Lucii

**Author's Note:**

> Updated weekly on Mondays and Fridays.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome and encouraged.

__

######  _19 August, 756:_

She had been five years old when the Gods had promised to take her brother away. Nine years later she understood it would mean his death. Fifteen years later he did, too.

Today, they made good on that promise.

As the light from the crystal faded, she was left completely and utterly alone for the first time in her life. For two thousand years, the Caelum family had fed them death after death, one monarch at a time. Reina had never known her grandfather. They had taken Father three months ago; she still wished it had been her, instead. But the Gods had some other plan for her. She didn't know what, she only knew that it was.

In her hand, the weight of the Ring of the Lucii dragged at her; the cut on her cheek stung and bled sluggishly. Before her stood her twin's friends, the expressions on their faces, stark as they stared at her, obvious even in the dark—shock, confusion, fear.

In ten years she would see Noctis again. But it didn't matter.

He was already dead.

" _Keep them safe,"_ Noctis had said. " _Until I get back."_

Reina didn't shed a tear. Inside she felt cold; not that terrible ache she had once felt at the loss of her father—her best friend—that pain was a distant memory. This was resignation.

This was how it had to be.

"Well, well, well…"

The steady click of boots against metal drew their attention. And there strode Ardyn Izunia. The Accursed. The Usurper.

Reina's naginata was at her feet. When she reached for it, she kept her eyes on him.

"The Chosen King begins his Ascension. His path to claiming the crystal's power, finally underway. I must admit, there were several times when I feared the four of you would fail to get him all the way here. That would have been  _so_ disappointing…" He had a languid sort of walk. "Killing him as a mortal will bring me no satisfaction, you see."

Ardyn made a slow circle around the crystal. Reina and the others turned to face toward him as he did so, not willing to have that snake at their backs.

"Now he shall have his power and his ever-faithful retainers will bring him straight to my doorstep when he does… but  _you_ , Princess…" He paused, having walked a half-circle so that he stood in front of Reina while the other three stood behind her. His gaze made her skin crawl when it settled on her. She adjusted her grip on her naginata.

"There really is no use for you, anymore, is there? You've performed your part admirably—brava—but now you're just one more Caelum in the world… and we simply cannot have that, can we? Your brother will be the last..." Ardyn stepped forward. At the same time, so did Ignis, pulling her back so she stood behind Gladio and Prompto as well.

"Tsk tsk tsk. So loyal, aren't they?" Ardyn said. "So  _foolish_. Perhaps they would like to watch."

He lifted one hand and purple fire flared. That was  _magic._ None but the royal family and the Oracle's line should have been able to use it. And Reina had never seen anything like this—magic congealing into a great black sphere. It split into three; each orb moved in the air like a living thing to engulf each of Noct's friends: a body-tight cage that left each occupant wincing and struggling pointlessly for freedom.

"Now then. Where were we?" Ardyn considered the nails on his right hand. "Ah, yes. Killing the princess. I remember, now."

He extended his hand and a blade materialized there—more magic he shouldn't have had. She was still holding her naginata, but now she wondered what use it would be. This creature—whatever he truly was—held his own brand of power that she knew nothing about. And she had nothing. Not even her brother's magic, now.

"Reina—the ring!" Gladio managed a few words, though each of them sounded a struggle.

The Ring of the Lucii. She was still holding it tight in the palm of her hand, half-forgotten. The other half of her had been hoping that everyone else had forgotten. She opened her hand and looked down at it. Hadn't it been larger? It had fit her father and his hands were twice the size of hers—now it looked small enough to fit comfortably on her finger.

Still, she hesitated.

Ardyn took a step forward. Then another. His blade was bare in his hand, lifting, preparing for the blow that would end her life.

_What if I let it happen?_

If she was dead… she would be with her family. If she lived now, what did that mean for her? A lifetime alone.

Reina took a step back from Ardyn. He had already said he meant to let the others live. Once she was dead, they would be free. And so would she.

Her eyes darted across their faces—Noctis' retinue. But he had asked her to keep them safe. Keep  _everyone_ safe. And Father had trusted both of them to do what was right for Lucis in his absence. How could she turn her back on that? How could she take the coward's way out?

She was the only one who knew—the only one who saw visions sent by the Gods. If they hadn't meant for her to use that, why would they have given it to her? Why would they let her glimpse the future if she wasn't meant to share it?

"Use—it—!" Gladio shouted.

Ardyn's blade swung. Reina's naginata clattered against the metal floor. Time stopped.

The ring  _did_ fit.

She wished it didn't.

Fire spread, like molten steel in her veins. With a cry she fell to her knees, not even feeling the pain of bone against metal when everything else was ablaze.

Thankfully, that initial burst was all she felt, as if the kings only wanted her on her knees before them. And she  _was_ before them. When she found the strength to lift her head and look, they glowed around her—armored suits of blue fire, just like Noct's magic.

_:So you have come to bear the ring, Reina Lucis Caelum.:_

The words rang out, a terrible booming sound more in her head than her ears, making her teeth ache.

_:But our power is not for you. Though you are of royal blood, you were meant to bear your burden without our aid.:_

Reina pressed her palms against the cold metal bridge beneath her—was it really still beneath her? Was she even in Niflheim, anymore? Was she even in  _Eos_ anymore?

She tried to make her mind work through the pounding in her head. Not for her? She had known that much her whole life—if the Gods had meant for her to wield the power of the crystal, they would have given her the same magic her brother, her father, and every other Caelum before her had. Instead they had given her a scant shadow of the same: the power to mix potions and the curse of seeing the future. But what did they mean, 'bear her burden without magic'?

"I have not taken the ring to make my load lighter," Reina said, gaze turned downward. It would have been so much easier, so much simpler, to have just… not… tried. "A choice of life or death was laid before me. I do not choose life lightly. I choose it knowing that it means lifting this weight on my own… not accepting the release of forever-sleep."

_:You judge your life to be so valuable? Choosing life is not a selfless decision.:_

Wasn't it?

Reina shut her eyes. "Then kill me."

All they had to do was let her go, send her back without the magic and watch Ardyn's blade slice through her collar bone. She would be finished. She could finally set down all the weight she had been carrying. She could finally be with her father again and rest easy in the knowledge that Noctis would join them when his time was through. It would have been so… easy...

_:No!:_

Her eyes snapped open; her heartbeat ceased. She knew that voice. It was the voice she heard in her dreams, the voice she played in her head over and over again, for fear that one day she would forget it.

_:She is of royal blood. Her life is too precious a thing to be taken lightly. She safeguards the future as any king would.:_

"Father…" Reina breathed, hardly daring to believe her ears. It was precisely what she had hoped and feared—hoped that his spirit was a part of the ring, that by wearing it she would be with him once more, and feared that all her hopes would fall apart in the face of the truth.

_:She will not burn by our power, young king. But she will not wield it, either.:_

_:Returning her without is identical to killing her yourselves. He will kill her, with certainty, and her death would come of this decision.:_

Reina still wasn't breathing. She couldn't believe it—she wouldn't allow herself to believe it.

_:This power is not meant for her.:_

_:Then she will bear my own—as she should have done in the first place.:_

Reina watched, tongue-tied and completely frozen. From the darkness a form materialized, as if from fog or tiny pinpricks of color. Her eyes fixed on his shoes and, though she tried, she couldn't bring herself to lift her gaze. It hardly helped that the shoes were as familiar as the face: rough-textured with a regular pattern, like the skin of a snake, and covered at the top by a precisely fitted pant leg— black with a narrow pinstripe. But something was missing. No gold metal braced beneath the right shoe. No black leather strapped across the shin. And when he took a step forward, there was no clank of metal, no regular click of a cane.

"Reina…"

He held out his hand to her. She followed the line of his arm, unwilling, but swept along all the same, up the pinstriped arm of his suit to the flow of cape that covered from the elbow to shoulder to the steel pauldron with inlaid gold. And just above, past a high collar…

In the months since they had left Altissia, Reina thought she had run out of tears to shed. Now she proved herself wrong. They fell in hot, steady streams down her cheeks and she couldn't have stopped them if she tried.

"Father…" Her voice cracked, though it was just a whisper.

That  _smile!_  Gods—it was the only thing she had wanted to see for three months!

"Just me."

Reina gave a wet sob and buried her face in her hands and shook her head, not even trying to stem the flow of tears so much as she tried to hide her face.

"Reina, my dearest daughter. You have grown so strong… and I am immeasurably proud of you. But I must send you back."

Of course. She couldn't stay—the world out there was waiting for her. Ignis and Prompto and Gladio and all the people she had left behind in Lucis. However much she wanted to, she couldn't remain here with her father.

She ran her hands over her face, wiping away tears, and rubbing her nose before looking up at him again. He was still smiling—melancholy, but smiling anyway—and holding his hand out to her. It took all the strength she had to not start crying again.

"Take my hand, my dear. This time,  _I_ shall lend you  _my_ strength."

She couldn't find her voice anymore, but she lifted her hand and put it in his, half expecting to find nothing there—just another dream—but instead she felt his palm beneath her fingertips, smooth and warm. His hand closed around hers and, with a hearty pull, he hauled her to her feet.

The world materialized around her once more. She stood in a place frozen in time: at her feet was the naginata she had just dropped; two feet above her head was Ardyn's blade, bearing down. Behind the snake himself were Noct's friends—Ignis, Prompto, Gladio, all frozen as they stared at her, willing her to just do  _something_.

And beside her stood the one hundred thirteenth king of Lucis.

In this world, his form  _was_ fog—transparent and intangible. He lifted his hand and wove a shield around them: a hemisphere, thin like glass but more sturdy than stone. Then he stepped behind her, still holding the shield in place, and spoke in her ear.

"Take hold of my magic. It is yours, now."

She lifted her hand and grasped the strands of magic that held the shield in place. His fingers brushed hers, but she felt nothing—like touching dust in a sunbeam. On her hand, the Ring of the Lucii burned bright.

Her father lowered his hand, moving it past her arm as if to touch her, then closed it into a fist and dropped it to his side.

"You are ready, Reina…" his voice sounded in her ear, but she could feel him slipping away.

Panic rose in her chest.

"Father, wait—!"

She couldn't do this. She couldn't hold her own against Ardyn with magic she had never used. She couldn't put Lucis back together on her own. And she absolutely couldn't go on alone after having had one more taste of his presence.

"I am with you, always."

His voice was like a whisper of the wind, this time. When she turned to look he was gone.

Time resumed.

Ardyn's blade crashed against her shield. A look of surprise flashed across his face, only briefly before it turned to anger. But still Reina hesitated.

What was she supposed to do? She could hold onto the shield that her father had built, but could she really do anything else? Could she do enough to get the four of them out safely?

_You are ready, Reina…_

Her father's voice sounded in her mind, so close that she couldn't tell if it was  _her_ thought or his. She shut her eyes and ground her teeth together as Ardyn swung against the shield again. There was little choice. Unless she meant to give up, she  _had to_ do enough.

Reina dropped the shield. Ardyn toppled forward, momentarily off balance, and she took advantage. Lightning leaped from her palm. She shouldn't have known how to call it—she had never held magic like that, not even on loan from Noctis—but somehow it came, anyway, without being known, without being learned. His body flew, propelled backward, and struck the railing on the far side of the crystal.

"Ah, the power of kings. I should have known..." he sounded more exasperated than anything else. "No matter, I will—"

Did he ever shut up?

She decided not to wait and find out. Feeling more than knowing how, she called ice up from his feet through his legs until the whole man—or whatever he truly was—was frozen solid. It wasn't the end of him. Not even if all the kings of old had granted her their power would she have been able to accomplish that. But perhaps it would buy them enough time.

The purple fire remained, holding Noct's friends. Reina spread her hands and consumed it with blue flames until each captive was freed.

"That. Was.  _Awesome_." Prompto said.

"Knew you could do it." Gladio grinned.

"So, you wield the ring's magic, now?" Ignis inquired, stooping for his fallen cane.

"I suppose I do," she said. She didn't tell him that the kings had argued over whether to give it to her, that in the end it had been her father's power she used. She didn't tell them she had seen him at all. Somehow she didn't want to. That was just for her. "But we must leave this place. Come quickly. We return to Lucis."

"But the Crystal—" Gladio began.

Reina shook her head. "No time. He won't be frozen forever."

And besides, the Crystal was massive. They had no way of returning to Lucis with it. Something told her it would find its own way back, someday.


	2. Campfire

__

######  _21-23 August, 756:_

The whole world was dark.

The others said Eos was dark, too. If the sun had risen while they were inside Zegnautus, none of them had caught sight of it. And now, fleeing through the streets of Gralea with daemons on their tail—but fearing worse things behind the daemons—it was, reportedly, still night.

Prompto found a car with the keys still in the ignition. Ignis wasn't much help in the search. He wasn't much help with anything, come to think of it. All he could do was bumble along and hope—pray—that he wasn't holding them back. For all he meant it when he said they should leave him if he fell behind, he wasn't sure that they would.

At least in the car he could forget, for a few hours…

No.

He wasn't even fooling himself, sitting there in the back with his cane between his knees, hunched forward and brooding. They  _should_ have left him behind in Zegnautus in the first place; neither Prompto nor Gladio could honestly say he hadn't been slowing them down on their way after Noctis. Maybe if they had left him, maybe if he had been a little faster, maybe if he hadn't been  _fucking crippled_  then…

Then what? Then they might have made it in time to say goodbye to Noctis? He knew scant little about what had passed, but he gathered it was unavoidable. And Reina—

Reina.

Reina… hadn't really spoken a word to him since… since he…

Gods, that had been a real thing that had actually happened, hadn't it?

He hadn't expected to live long enough to regret it, but as soon as they stopped running for their lives he certainly did regret it. Like now, sitting beside her in the back of some stolen car, surrounded by nigh-unbearable silence.

He shouldn't have kissed her.

Now she knew everything and, when she needed a friend the most, it would push her away if she didn't feel the same.  _If_ she didn't feel the same. As if there was some chance that she did. No, he never had the slightest chance with her. Just her brother's retainer and she was miles above.

If he had been a little bolder, he would have asked her to disregard the whole experience. He might have come up with some plausible excuse—it was, after all, commonly known that pressure did strange things to people and, though he prided himself above such things, evidently he was liable to make mistakes when faced with death.

Mistakes like… kissing his best friend's sister. Who also happened to be the Princess of Lucis.

Gods  _damn_.

He should have been driving. He was always driving; not because he didn't trust the others—though, to be perfectly honest, Noctis' driving was more than a little nerve-wracking—but because driving gave him that necessary extra piece of control. And when one was a perfectionist, one wished to be in charge of ensuring everything was done properly.

Gods knew he could have used some semblance of control over his life at that moment. Illusory though it would have been.

But he wasn't going to get it, was he?

In the dark, he couldn't tell where they were or if they had left the city. It was also difficult to gauge time, with neither natural light nor a clock at his disposal.

They stopped to change drivers. No one mentioned the fact that he was just dead weight. The car started up again.

And so it went. Freezing air blew inside whenever anyone opened a door. He gathered from scattered comments that it had begun to snow. Hard to believe it was still August. Harder, still, to believe that two months ago Ignis had still believed he would one day be the king's adviser. And that he hadn't been useless.

The first dawn they stopped in an abandoned rest stop. No one wondered what had happened to the people. At least, not out-loud. That Niflheim had been using the Starscourge to turn humans into daemons, that the whole city—perhaps the whole empire—had gone under lockdown following an outbreak had been disturbing news, to say the least. But, if nothing else, it did give them some answers. They were short on those, these days.

Gladio guessed they weren't far from Cartanica, which gave Ignis something vaguely resembling bearings. He also knew the sun had finally risen, because everyone had commented to that effect. They were hoping to get enough rest while it was still up. Ignis tried to be optimistic, but he had always been more of a realist.

Their chances of getting out of Niflheim alive were slim.

They only ate cold, canned food that night. He should have been cooking, but he didn't know where to begin. He couldn't read labels. He couldn't search for ingredients. He couldn't find the tools he needed in an unfamiliar space and every space was unfamiliar, now.

He slept, fitfully, trying not to read into the fact that Reina stayed outside of the room all night—day—whatever it was .

When the sun set—it must have been light for no more than six hours—they loaded up the car with whatever food they could salvage, filled the tank, and took to the snowy road once more.

For a few hours they were silent as the road climbed and curved. It was a mournful quiet. A contemplative quiet. They had lost Noctis; it mattered very little that he would return, some day. By now, Ignis was certain, everyone knew what was to come on Noct's return. A few brief moments to say goodbye, before…

And so they mourned. Their king. Their brother. Their best friend. Their linchpin. For what were the four of them without Noctis? He was the center punched out of a wheel. The spokes were never going to hold together without him.

So far as Ignis knew, no one shed a tear for Noct. It hurt too much for that—knowing that they hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye, knowing that they would never be able to lay this to rest until his return, knowing they would spend Gods-knew-how-long waiting for him only to deliver him to his death, knowing that this loss meant the end of everything else…

They would have no more car rides across Lucis or nights spent under the stars. Ignis would never scold Noctis for dumping his vegetables on Reina's plate again. Gladio would never drag Noct out of the tent feet-first for sleeping in too late. There would be no more comfortable meals with raucous laughter. There would be no more comfortable silences.

There would be no more.

It wasn't fair that they were all stuck here in Niflheim, fighting their way back to Lucis just to wait—it wasn't right. They should have been with him. But he would have wanted them to carry on, wouldn't he? He would have wanted them to take care of his kingdom in his absence, as best they were able. If he had been granted a few moments to say something to them it wouldn't have been that, however. It would have been something asinine like—"Hey Prompto, don't get fat while I'm away"—followed by something too serious masquerading as a jest… "Specs, look after Rei, will you? She gets real weird if she spends too much time on her own."

Or maybe that was just Ignis wishing that Noctis had told him to take care of Reina.

Regardless, he was doing none of them any good by sitting around feeling sorry for himself over all the things he couldn't do anymore. Perhaps he couldn't drive and he couldn't fight and he couldn't cook… but he could still think. And what he thought, just now, was:

"There is little chance that we will find passage home in the same manner we arrived. That boat was from Altissia and I daresay they have not waited all this time for us."

"Well then… how do we get back home?" Prompto asked.

"Tenebrae seems our best chance," said Ignis.

In front of him, Gladio made a sound of agreement.

"There may not be many people left in Tenebrae." It was the first time he had heard Reina speak since Zegnautus. Jarring.

"We can only hope that some have survived. It may still serve as a beacon of sorts—the Oracle held back the dark, after all," Ignis said.

"Even if there is organization in Tenebrae, we may not be able to find passage to Lucis," Reina said.

"Shoulda stolen a Magitek engine," Prompto said.

" _Those_ were full of daemons," said Ignis.

"That's all assuming we can even get to Tenebrae," Gladio said. "Snow's only getting thicker and I dunno about you guys, but I got no idea where the hell we're going."

Admittedly, Ignis' knowledge of Niflheim's geography was limited. But he knew Tenebrae was north and east of Gralea. And he knew that was the direction they were going.

"The best we can do is follow the road," he said.

They did, to the best of their ability. Though Ignis could feel the wheels slipping on ice, now and then, and the silence in the car thickened whenever they did. This car wasn't built for such conditions. Nor, it seemed, was the road itself. More than once they pulled over because the road had split and no one could find any signs. Ignis followed when they did this, despite how pointless it was. But freezing with the rest of them—useless though he was—was better than sitting in the car alone.

After each sign was found and their bearings regained, they climbed back inside, brushing off snowflakes and rubbing freezing hands together. No one told Ignis he didn't need to follow them.

Eventually Ignis felt the road shift and turn downward. So far as he could tell, they had been driving for well over ten hours—though it was difficult to say, precisely. But if they were coming out of the mountains, that was good news. Alas—

"We're not gonna make it to Tenebrae unless we find gas, soon," Gladio said.

"Maybe there'll be something at the bottom," Prompto said.

No one contradicted him; it seemed just as well to let the optimism stand for a few more hours.

But of course, when they did reach the bottom—the winding road leveling and straightening—it was only to prove their hopes wrong. Ignis didn't need to see to know there was no gas station.

They managed a little farther before the engine sputtered and died. And they sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating their options.

"So… now what?" Prompto asked, finally.

"We have little choice: we walk. If we find gas within a few miles we'll bring fuel back," said Reina.

No objections came. They filed out of the car and packed up what little food they had left. And they trudged through the thinning snow on foot. At least they had that consolation—whereas at the peak it had been knee high at the lowest points, here it was only a few inches deep. The wind didn't bite so hard, either. They would manage.

But they could only carry on so far on foot before growing tired. In the end, they found some shelter from the wind up against a cliff face and camped for the night. It wasn't cheerful like the camps they used to make in Lucis. It seemed more than two months ago, now; Ignis had never thought he would miss Gladio yelling at Prompto for taking photographs when he was supposed to be helping set up the tent or Noctis complaining about his feet hurting while he laid in the middle of the camp.

He never thought he would have the chance to miss cooking, either.

That had been for Noctis, in the beginning. Now he was gone and it just seemed like so much wasted effort. Who was he really cooking for? Reina? She hadn't enjoyed a meal since King Regis died. He doubted very much that she cared whether or not he cooked.

But  _Gods damn it_ , he wasn't just going to sit around and mope about doing nothing, then try to justify it with something besides his own self doubt. To hell with the rest. He was never going to get back on his feet if he didn't try to pull himself up.

So he pulled himself up and went to make dinner. It was easy to find where they had dropped the supplies—if nothing else, he still had his memory. But he hadn't really thought beyond that point and on to how to overcome to the obstacles he had already listed.

Like cans, for instance.

That was most of what they had brought from the rest stop. He found a few bell peppers in the bottom of the box—a little worse for the wear, but probably still salvageable—but short of opening every one of a dozen cans, he was never going to guess what was in each one. He could hold it for as long as he liked, run his fingers along the outside searching for some marking, but it was pointless.

What the hell was he still doing with them? If they ever reached Lucis, they would dump him somewhere to be useless for the rest of his days.

He clenched his fingers on the can and stayed there, kneeling in the dirt while he tried to salvage enough of his pride to admit he couldn't do it.

Behind him, boots crunched on rock, growing closer. He had to stop himself from turning to look—he might as well break that habit now. The footsteps stopped beside him. He wouldn't have known it was her except Gladio breathed more audibly and Prompto couldn't keep his mouth shut for that long. And… it was likely just his imagination, but he thought for a moment he caught a hint of her scent.

She didn't ask if he needed help. She didn't tell him he didn't have to do this. She didn't make any excuses for him or fill the silence with vacuous words.

She just said: "Chocobeans."

For a moment he didn't know what it meant. But then—he was still holding a can. Chocobeans.

He set it down and picked up another.

"Eos Green Peas," Reina said.

With beans, peas, and the mutilated bell peppers, he might just scrape a passable soup, but it would require a can of tomatoes. He might have just asked her if there were any. But he seemed to have misplaced his voice.

He picked up a third can.

"Pickled Sahagin Liver. Ew. Why do we have that?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He set that can pointedly away from the other two. There was every possibility that they would reach a day when their ability to be picky over food choice was stripped away. But it wasn't today. He picked up a fourth can.

He worked his way through the lot of them, that way, and he did find a can of tomatoes. That was enough—he gathered up the cans and the bell peppers, and climbed to his feet—he was past the impossible point, now. Except none of the kitchen was set up and he didn't know where that was. In fact, now that he had picked out ingredients he wasn't sure that they  _had_ any kitchen gear, anymore. Yes, they had stopped by the remains of the Regalia to recover whatever they could before leaving her behind for good, but why would anyone have taken the cooking gear?

Reina brushed his arm as she moved past him. She was through with him, now; she was well within her rights to leave him to sort out this mess on his own. He could find a can opener, likely, with a little searching. And then. Well. Perhaps there was a stray pan.

He heard the creak of hinges and the familiar scrap of metal on metal. But that was— _why_ had they brought—?

Reina returned. She took his arm and led him forward, guiding his hand so it hit the little folding table before he did. He traced the edge and found the camp stove precisely where he expected to. He deposited the ingredients as Reina moved away from him, again, her hand lingering on his until the last moment. This time he knew she would return.

It wasn't unlike how they worked together in combat. If he left his hand outstretched, he was always assured she would come back for him.

She did.

She passed him a can opener and moved behind him, her hands just brushing across his back so he knew precisely where she was. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. This. This he could do. When Reina was at his side, filling in every hole left by his sight, he could almost forget he was crippled. He could almost forget—

How much he regretted kissing her in Zegnautus.

Ah.

Perhaps he couldn't. Not now that it had crossed his mind.

"Ignis—"

He lifted his head with a start. She was standing right next to him, giving up her own time to make his own handicap seem less when she didn't even care about dinner, and he was letting self-pity encroach once more. Now she would tell him he didn't have to try, didn't have to strive to fill the place he had—back when he wasn't blind.

But she didn't.

She didn't say another word. She just laid her hand atop his and, against his better judgement, he brushed his thumb over her hand, laced his fingers with hers. She held to him for a moment—so close! Gods, close enough that he could feel her warm against his arm. Was it at all possible that she—?

She lifted their hands, moving his until his palm rested against the handle of a kitchen knife.

Ah. But of course. That was it, after all. It made much more sense, honestly. In fact, it was something of a relief to know that she was only—

No. No it wasn't.

He gripped the knife and sliced the bell pepper in half. She had given him everything he needed, now, and she would leave. That was the only reason she was with him, after all. Just trying to make him feel less worthless—for a moment it had worked.

She didn't leave.

He could feel her at his back, one hand just barely resting near his waist as he worked. She stayed. And she moved when he moved, never in his way, only ever precisely where he needed her to be without any words being exchanged. For the remainder of the evening, they danced around each other: her arm brushed his back; his hand touched hers; their fingers interlaced and Ignis let himself hope, because it was better than misery. He cooked, but she was his eyes.

At the table she sat close enough to him that her leg brushed his and their shoulders bumped between bites. Her fingers grazed his hand when she set her spoon down and reached for her glass.

And when, at last, Ignis climbed into the tent after Gladio and Prompto, grateful to take advantage of the scant daylight hours… Reina followed. She never slept in the tent with them; she had always gone to the Regalia wherever they stopped, or else she had roamed the camp like a restless carnivore. But tonight she set her bed beside his and shifted closer. Close enough that her hand brushed his chest, then closer still until she was curled beside him. And slowly—ever so slowly, giving her ample time to tell him off—he placed his hands on her shoulders and inched them around.

She didn't tell him off. Not even when he had his arms wrapped around her, his head bowed over hers, memorizing her scent and just letting himself believe:

Perhaps it hadn't been a mistake.


	3. Return

__

######  _24 August, 756:_

Thirty years ago, Cor had watched his first king fall. That had been from sickness and age and the toll of the ring—so many things that Cor's blade couldn't defend him from. Even so, watching Mors waste away and being powerless to prevent it had been harrowing. After that, he had sworn his life to Regis. Though he had known full well at the time that he was likely to outlive Regis, as well—with Regis five years his senior and using the ring to uphold the Wall throughout his whole reign—Cor had sworn to defend his king from earthly foes with his life.

He had failed.

Three and a half months ago, Regis had fallen. Not to illness, not to accelerated old age, but to the blade of an imperial.

Cor could still see his face, ashen white and lifeless, his eyes still open, but clouded, never to see again.

If he had lost a third king in all this mess, he would never forgive himself.

"Marshal—"

Galdin had no power except from batteries but, for the moment, dim sunlight held back the daemons. No power across Lucis; daemons had done too much damage and the powerplant in Lestallum wasn't running anymore. That should have been his priority; Regis had left him with one task—protect the people—but he couldn't lightly turn his back on Noctis, however tiresome the boy was, at times.

"Marshal?" The voice behind him tried again. Cor didn't turn. It was Dustin and, as usual, it was impossible to tell anything from his tone.

"What is it?"

"We've had word from an imperial ship bringing refugees from Tenebrae—they claim to have the princess aboard."

Cor  _did_ turn at that. "Are you certain? Did you speak to her?"

"No, Sir, I only know what was told to me, but they have given a landing time and location."

What the hell was Reina doing aboard an imperial vessel? Was she safe? Was Noctis with her? Surely, if he was, they would have said so as well. Two members of the Lucian royal family were better for bargaining than just one.

"What do they want?" Cor asked.

"Sir, I was led to believe that this is  _not_ a hostage exchange—merely transportation."

Cor's brow furrowed. That made even less sense. "I want to talk to them."

He beat Dustin to the radio. "This is Marshal Cor Leonis—is this the vessel that is holding Princess Reina?"

He released the button and waited for the response. It came, crackling, a moment later.

" _We're not_ holding  _anyone,"_ a woman's voice said, irate. " _Call it a favor."_

He didn't believe that for a moment. "Is the king with her?"

" _All I've got is the princess and her three retainers. She said you'd ask, though. And she said to tell you he's safe and that she'll explain the rest when we land."_

'Safe' wasn't as good as 'present.' It boded ill that he wasn't given a more solid answer—though he didn't trust the voice on the radio as far as he could spit.

"I want to speak to the princess."

" _You can want all you like. Look, I'm not a damn courier and I don't work for you. I'm doing you a courtesy by letting you know you can call off the chase. You can pick up your princess in a couple hours or not. Doesn't matter to me."_

The line clicked and it was the last they heard from her. Cor bit back a swear.

"Sir? Shall I call off the search?" Dustin asked.

Cor stared at the radio a moment longer. Then: "No. But let's get out to the drop point. Call in some backup."

The true potential for backup was depressingly scarce; a year ago, if an imperial craft had radioed in saying they had the princess aboard, he would have been at the forefront of a hundred Crownsguards when that ship landed. But most of those men and women had died in Insomnia along with the king.

He should have been among them. At least  _they_  had—

But it didn't matter now. He had a few dozen Crownsguards spread across Lucis. Most of them had other work to do, but Cor was willing to give precedence to this; regardless of Regis' final orders to him, the king  _would_ have devoted these resources to recovering his children. For all that he had given everything for his kingdom, he had always wanted to give more for Noctis and Reina. So Cor called off the Crownsguard, such as it was in this day and age. The others—civilians and hunters—could continue the search, in case this tip turned out to be nothing but a wild goose chase.

They only had a few hours to gather the necessary personnel and take a stand at the drop point. It would take nearly that long for half the Crownsguards to arrive. Cor was the first—driving faster didn't mean he would recover the princess any sooner or any more successfully, but he did it anyway—along with Dustin, and Monica arrived shortly after with her own contingent.

Concern wasn't an emotion that Cor experienced. At least, it wasn't if one asked any of his Crownsguards. Or even him—though he might not have denied it, he would have given a stony stare in response.

As such, he certainly wasn't concerned as he held the line between Dustin and Monica, hand tense on the hilt of his blade. No, he wasn't worried.

He was terrified.

When the imperial ship arrived, he watched the hatch open as it lowered toward the ground. What he expected to see was imperials with a royal hostage: they were still high enough that a fall would do considerable damage to anyone pushed out, but it wasn't the same, irreversible damage that a bullet would do.

What he wasn't expecting to see was just what he had been promised: Reina, standing in the open air with Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto at her side. No one else. No imperials. No hostage situation. No danger.

Cor let out a slow breath. His hold on his sword loosened as the ship touched down. If he hadn't been so determinedly not-relieved, he might have hugged her. But that, and the recollection of the last time they had spoken, kept him rooted to the spot.

He had come to see them off before they left for Altissia with Cid, but she hadn't said a word to him. She had hardly said a word to anyone, so far as he could tell. No, the last time they had spoken—if it could be called that—had been the day after Regis had died and Insomnia had fallen. She had been mourning her father and the best thing he could think to say to her was to do her duty and not disappoint Regis.

Stupid,  _stupid_ thing to say.

It was a small wonder she hadn't spoken to him since then. Tonight was no different. She stepped off the ship and the others followed.

"Your Highness." Cor bowed. "You're safe."

When he straightened she was still studying him silently, but it wasn't the same gaze she had worn for the past months. It was less hollow—less empty.

"Cor," she said, at last.

She was wearing the Ring of the Lucii. He might not have noticed if she hadn't drawn attention to it, twisting it on her finger as if the weight of it bothered her.

"Where is Noctis?" Cor asked.

Her jaw tensed. Whatever had happened in Niflheim, it hadn't been good. Ignis blind and Noctis missing—at least Reina looked as if she had finally woken up.

"Fulfilling his destiny," was all she said.

It seemed he wouldn't get more of an answer—at least not while standing here.

So many things were begging to be said. He should have apologized for his words all those months ago—and for not protecting her father in the first place. He should have told her he was glad to have her back home, at last. He should have told her he would protect her like he hadn't been able to protect Regis or Noctis.

Instead, all he said was: "There's a car standing by to take you to Lestallum." And they piled in with Cor behind the wheel.

It was a few hour drive to get back—it might have been uncomfortably silent in the too-full car if Ignis hadn't broken it, answering questions that Cor hadn't yet asked.

"I'm afraid we've been remiss in communication—though opportunity was scarce inside Niflheim's borders. I believe Altissia was the last time we were able to send word, just before we set sail for the empire."

"Sounds about right," said Cor.

"We arrived safely in Niflheim and sought the royal tomb…"

He told the tale—highly abridged, Cor had no doubt—of their time in Niflheim, from the royal tomb in Cartanica to Zegnautus Keep in Gralea, from the imperial chancellor's ubiquitous presence to staying behind to hold the daemons off as Noctis and Reina pushed on ahead.

"And, when we did arrive… I fear it was too late…"

"There was nothing you could have done." From the back seat, Reina spoke for the first time since climbing into the car.

Cor glanced at her in the mirror, then at Ignis. They couldn't keep dancing around the only question he wanted answered the whole way to Lestallum. " _What happened to Noctis?_ "

"I… do not fully understand it, myself," Ignis said.

Cor looked at Reina, instead. She met his gaze squarely in the mirror, but she didn't respond immediately. She just let the silence stretch. Was she being obstinate on purpose?

But, finally, she did answer. "Noctis has been drawn into the heart of Eos, where he will commune with the Gods and learn all he needs to know for the battle to come."

"What does that  _mean_?" The heart of Eos? The battle to come?

"I only Dreamed pieces of what Bahamut tells Noctis; I don't know what the Gods have planned, but I know that the ring isn't ready, yet. It's meant to absorb the power of the crystal. Once it has, Noctis can restore light to the world."

"The  _sun_?" The days had been growing increasingly shorter for months and, for the past week, nights seemed to stretch longer at an accelerated rate.

"In part. But mostly he's meant to destroy the daemons," Reina said.

"And have you learned how?" Cor asked.

"He has to kill Ardyn Izunia—"

"The  _chancellor?_ " This story was getting stranger by the second.

"He's more than that. Bahamut called him 'the Immortal Accursed' and 'the Usurper.' He's much more powerful than any of us realize and we only had a taste of it in Zegnautus. To destroy him, Noctis will have to defeat him in the flesh… and then follow him to the afterlife to banish his soul forever."

Silence fell in the car. By the way Ignis bowed his head and Gladio averted his gaze, Cor gathered that both of them had also known Noctis was destined to sacrifice himself for the greater good. It was a weight Regis had carried for fifteen years, only sharing with those closest to him. How Ignis and Gladio had come by that information, Cor had no idea.

But for Prompto, at least, it seemed the first time he had heard this.

"He's gotta  _what?!_ "

No one answered. He didn't actually want anyone to repeat it. He wanted someone to tell him it wasn't true and no one was going to do that. He looked from face to face, aghast, waiting for someone to say  _something_.

No one did.

"But—there's gotta be something we can do!" Prompto said.

"You think Father didn't spend fifteen years searching for a way out?" Reina rounded on him, suddenly sharp."You think we haven't scoured every possibility? There is  _nothing_. This was ordained by the  _Gods_. There is no plan you can make that they have not considered."

She wanted to save him as much as Prompto did. As much as the rest of the world did. Cor could understand that impulse—to defend what had been done and what hadn't been done in the face of disaster.

Prompto stared at her for a moment. Then he slumped forward and put his head in his hands, falling silent himself.

Not the best way to learn your brother was slated for death.

Nothing was going to make it better. Cor asked the question he needed to ask.

"How long?"

"Ten years."

Ten  _years_? Ten years without a king and the nights growing longer every day?

There would be less than a thousand people left in Lucis at the end. Once there had been three hundred thousand in Insomnia alone.

Most of them were dead already.

"That's all I know," Reina said, almost apologetic. Apologetic because she had only been able to answer  _some_  of the questions, which otherwise would have been glaring in her absence. She had always been like that: sorry that she was only doing extraordinarily well instead of perfect.

Cor picked up the radio receiver. "Monica. Call off the search for Noctis and recall everyone to Lestallum."

No reason to waste the manpower on a futile search. Not when resources were so scarce.

The remainder of the drive was silent. Prompto hadn't moved since Reina's revelation; Gladio was taking up the whole passenger side seat with his arms folded over his chest; Reina sat in the middle of the back, staring at her hands or—Cor suspected—the ring; and Ignis sat with his chin on his chest and his cane held between his knees.

Lestallum had changed in the past few months, adapting to the times. Market stalls had been cleared out to make space, cheerful street vendors had left carts unattended, the too-hot sun and azure sky were replaced by dusk that stretched all day, and garbage littered the streets. The spaces between buildings had been boarded up to create a wall around the city—everything beyond was abandoned.

One thing remained the same; it was still packed with people. Now they lined the streets, sitting on steps and leaning against buildings. So many people—and their purpose in life had been reduced to:  _survive_.

Cor wove through them, leading way toward the Leville with too many thoughts buzzing in his head. Mors was dead. Regis was Dead. Noctis was as good as—his only remaining moments on the earth would be dedicated to reaching his place of death. The only Caelum left in Lucis was Reina.

It meant several things all at once. Hell, it probably meant more than Cor had so far registered.

First, it meant she was the closest thing they had to a ruler. So far as monarchs went, they could have had worse—Regis had more or less been training her for this since she was eight. She would do fine if she could find the will to believe in herself.

Second was that, while Reina had the political training, everyone had been preparing to give the throne to Noctis. Reina had no attendants, no retinue, no Shield, no advisers. She would need all of those things to get through this.

Finally and, perhaps, most significant to Cor, was that she was the last of Regis' descendants. And if he couldn't protect the father then maybe… maybe he could attone for it by protecting her. It was what Regis would have wanted.

Or Cor was only telling himself it was so he could feel like less of a failure.

Even preoccupied as he was by these thoughts, he didn't miss the way the crowds of refugees stirred when Reina walked through. People climbed to their feet and pressed in toward them, speaking in hushed tones to each other.

"Princess Reina—" One of the whispering voices called out to her; a hand followed.

Cor grabbed the wrist automatically, stepping in between the grasping woman and Reina—who had taken a step back and now stood wide-eyed behind him.

"Your Highness, please—when will the Gods send the sun back?" The speaker was an old woman. Her wrist was so thin that Cor's fingers overlapped. Had he really thought she was going to be a threat?

Cor glanced over his shoulder at her. Reina shook her head, still looking at the old woman.

"Her Highness has only just returned. You can speak to her later." Cor released the woman's wrist and motioned to Reina, ushering her along, away from the staring eyes and reaching hands.

The Leville, when they finally reached it, was predominantly empty. Thus far, it had been reserved as Crownsguard headquarters. Now he supposed it would be the seat of Reina's government. But that was her business. For now, Cor merely ushered her into an empty room, motioning for the others to wait outside.

It was hard to say who was more relieved when they were closed inside. It shouldn't have been nerve-wracking to walk through a crowd of refugees. Did he really think someone was going to pull a knife on her? Did he really think she couldn't handle it?

He thought of that look on her face when the old woman reached out—surprise verging on fear.

No. He didn't believe she could have dealt with it if someone pulled a knife on her. All the more reason to keep close.

But… "You'll have to talk to them, eventually. I suggest you decide what to say while you have the chance."

Reina looked at him, a furrow on her brow. Had she really not realized, yet?

"For what purpose?" She asked.

She hadn't. She hadn't thought about this at all.

"Ten years Noctis will be gone?" Cor asked.

Reina folded her arms over her chest. "Ten years," she affirmed.

Cor considered her for a moment. "Then you're the only ruler they have."

He watched the realization strike her like a blow. Her eyes widened, she dropped her arms back to her sides, and she sat down hard in the armchair behind her.

"Whether you like it or not, you must take up this mantle. The people will look to you for hope; you must be the light when everything else has gone dark," Cor said.

Reina didn't look at him. She looked at her hands and the ring she wore.

Cor crossed his arms. Lucis didn't have time for her to have an identity crisis, or fret over whether or not she would be a competent ruler. She needed to take this, whether she wanted it or not, because Lucis  _needed_ her on the throne.

Especially if Noctis was never going to take it.

"Your Highness," he said—though perhaps it should be 'Majesty,' now, "You cannot run from this."

She looked up at him, eyebrows coming together in the middle. "I do not run from responsibility, Cor."

"Then you'll think of what to say to them," Cor said.

She dropped her gaze. "I will."

Well, that was one of the three things dealt with, at least. As for the other two…

"You'll need a Shield. Until you see fit to choose one, Gladiolus will do—he has proven himself capable."

She only nodded, still not looking at him. They would work on that some other time—either she would find the will to take charge on her own or he would push her until she stood up. She couldn't afford to wilt.

And the last thing: "And from now on you train with me personally."

Because he sure as hell didn't trust anyone else with her life.

Again she nodded—meekly silent. Cor sighed inwardly. She had stubbornness and fire hidden away under that cooperative princess, somewhere. He had seen it before.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at six. You and the others are welcome to take whatever unoccupied rooms you want."

He left, because she wasn't going to say anything else.

It was going to be a very long ten years.


	4. Training

__

######  _10-28 August, 756:_

When the lights went out, she was in Caem. They said power got cut across Lucis; something about daemons in the plant at Lestallum, but Iris never heard the full story. All she knew was that she was in the dark with a couple Crownsguards and Talcott, and all she could think about was:

 _Just like Insomnia_.

That night had been all darkness and screams and daemons, as well, before Monica and Dustin pulled her out. She hadn't wanted to leave. Not like she could have done anything, but Dad…

It hadn't really hit her, before—or maybe it had, but she wasn't ready to feel it so she didn't. Couldn't. Not until then, sitting in Caem in the dark while daemons scratched at the walls and it all came flooding back. Everything she hadn't been feeling. Everything she hadn't been thinking about.

Insomnia—the only home she had ever known—was gone. Dad was gone; the only thing she had left of him was her medallion necklace. All of her friends from school were gone. Before, she could almost convince herself that it had all been a bad dream and just keep on smiling, keep on going like nothing was wrong; it was like looking back on a nightmare after waking in the morning. But when the sun didn't rise anymore the dreams never went away.

She hadn't dreamed about Insomnia, before. Now she always did.

She missed her dad. At least Gladdy had something else to hold onto; Dad had said protect Noct and Rei, before they had left, so all Gladio had to do was follow through on that promise and he was doing what Dad had wanted. Iris didn't have that. She wasn't following in his footsteps. She couldn't make him proud by sitting around moping—he always used to say her smile lit up a room, but she couldn't even do that right, anymore. Maybe if she wasn't so small, maybe if she was stronger like Gladio…

Maybe if she had trained harder she could have done something.

Maybe if she had been a Shield like Dad and Gladio, fewer people would have died.

She wasn't fool enough to think she could ever have saved her dad or the king. But that didn't mean she didn't wish for it, now and then.

But she was just a little girl. And she had never felt smaller than she did then in Caem.

Eventually the sun  _did_ rise and the daemons went away, like they always did. That day they didn't take the bad dreams with them, though, and even with Lucis lit once more, it looked almost grey. How had she gone three whole months—more than that—thinking that everything was still rainbows and sunshine?

Everything felt more real, now.

Less like an adventure.

They drove to Caem in the cold sunlight. It wasn't even cloudy; it just wasn't bright like it should have been. Iris couldn't tell if it was because the days were just like that, now, or because everything she looked at seemed a little darker, a little farther away, now.

Lestallum was all different, too. Or maybe it had always been like that and she never noticed; too blinded by her frantic insistence that everything was  _fine_.

Now the people that crowded the streets weren't smiling.

Now the street corners were piled with rubbish.

Now the too-close buildings were plugged up with odds and ends to make a solid wall around the city. Everyone had to keep the daemons out, somehow.

They gave her a room in the Leville. Mostly she never slept in it. She hadn't noticed the peeling paint before, but now that she did, she knew it had always been there. This was where they had gone, straight out of Insomnia. No one slept all night, they just drove and hit Lestallum around dawn when the world was still asleep and everything felt jarringly still. This was where she had met up with Gladdy and the others—Reina, who never engaged, never said anything; sometimes she looked at people, but she never looked  _at_ them.

Now Iris understood why. Dads were supposed to be invincible. Home was always supposed to be waiting for you to get back.

This was where Jarrod had died.

Dad would have saved him. But there was nothing Iris could do.

A couple weeks later, Reina arrived in Lestallum with Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis. Not Noctis. But of course; he had his destiny to fulfill.

Iris took to the roof when she couldn't sleep, and she couldn't sleep whenever she dreamed of Insomnia, and she dreamed of Insomnia most nights. But her room was right next to the stairs up and no one else was ever on top of the Leville. It was quiet. It was empty and dark.

Reina looked different, now. Iris wanted to ask her how she did it—how she carried on without thinking about Insomnia or the king, anymore—but she was always so busy. It seemed like every time Iris saw her, she was rushing somewhere. That was probably the reason why. Having a place—having a purpose. It must have helped.

Or it was all just a lie. Because Reina didn't sleep, either, and whatever siren call of isolation had brought Iris to the roof also brought her company.

Iris turned when the door creaked. For a moment they just stared at each other, both surprised to find someone else haunting the top of the hotel.

"Sorry." Reina took a step back. "I won't intrude."

"Wait—"

She stopped.

"Did you… dream about Insomnia, too?" Iris wrapped her fingers around the medallion hanging from her neck; a tarnished silver coin that her dad had given her ten years ago. He had told her he picked it up off the street in Altissia—his lucky coin. It was supposed to always bring him back to her when he was away for work. So much for that, now.

Reina gave her a peculiar look. Then she stepped fully out onto the roof and closed the door behind her. She came to sit beside Iris, hanging her legs over the edge and resting her forearms on her knees.

"Most nights," Reina said, looking at her hands. She was wearing the Ring of the Lucii.

"Me too."

Reina looked up at her. "What do you dream of?"

"That last night… it's always the same dream, more or less. It starts out nice… sometimes I'm with Dad and Gladdy and we're happy again. Then there's an explosion in the city center. Everyone's screaming, running. The Wall falls… and then… then I know—I just  _know_ —that Dad's dead. The sky gets dark and everything is just smoke and screams after that…"

Reina just stared. She went on staring so long that Iris dropped her gaze, wondering if she hadn't said the wrong thing.

Then: "I keep forgetting you were inside."

"I tried to forget, too."

"I see Insomnia's fall in my Dreams, as well," Reina said.

But how—? She hadn't even been there. Except… sometimes she dreamed about the future and no one could wake her up. Did she dream about the past the same way? And if she did… if she visited that same time and place in her dreams…

"Did you… see my dad?"

"He stood by my father until his last… but he was taken by the same man who murdered my father."

That was what a Shield was supposed to do, wasn't it? Iris wanted to feel content that, if nothing else, at least he had given his life for King Regis like he always meant to. But she couldn't.

"I keep thinking…" Iris looked out toward the meteor and kicked her feet. "It's stupid, I know, but I just keep thinking that I could have stayed. I could have helped. But I know—I couldn't. I'm not strong like Dad or Gladio… or you."

"It isn't stupid." Reina wasn't looking at her, either. "And I'm not that strong. I'm just good at faking it."

Iris had to look to make sure she wasn't joking. She sure didn't look like she was joking.

"Well I guess if you fake it hard enough you'll start doing it, anyway," Iris said.

"That's what they tell me."

Iris kicked her feet again and they fell silent for a time. They remained that way until Iris thought of another question.

"How do you keep going? After the king…?"

Reina didn't respond immediately. She hung her head forward so her chin rested on her chest and stared down at her hands again. Or maybe it was the ring she was looking at.

"I ask myself the same thing every day." Reina twisted the ring on her finger. "But I suppose I carry on because I must. So many people are counting on me, and if I fail…" She looked up at Iris, finally, and gave her an unhappy smile. "It also helps to remind myself that this is what he would have wanted me to do. Though only in a masochistic sort of way."

It was less helpful than Iris had hoped. She tugged at her skirt, discontent, and leaned forward over her knees. No one was counting on her for anything. She wasn't following any path that her dad would have wanted. She wasn't following any path at all.

Maybe it showed on her face, or maybe Reina just knew—either way, she nudged Iris' shoulder and stood, brushing herself off. "Come on. Come watch Cor beat me to a pulp."

Iris went. Not because it sounded like fun to watch Reina get beat to a pulp, but because she wanted to see Reina in action.

He was already waiting when they arrived. He didn't say a word, but the look he gave Reina was mildly disapproving—like the look Iris' governess used to give her when she came inside all covered in mud. She didn't think anyone could look at Reina that way until then. But he didn't make any comment about Iris' presence, so Iris dropped onto one of the benches along the side of the practice room and waited as they took their places.

Everyone always said Cor was the best swordsman in Lucis—maybe in Eos—but Iris had never really seen him fight in all those years. He did, now, his blade a blur as it swept up toward Reina. It sliced empty air, barely missing the edge of her shirt as she sidestepped. Iris held her breath. Cor shifted his weight and his sword responded, flashing left after Reina. He had her on the defensive, already. She blocked blow after blow, sometimes getting her naginata up at just the last instant so that Iris thought he might actually hit her. How could he be so sure he wouldn't? She would have been terrified that she would accidentally hurt someone.

Cor's barrage of blows drove Reina back, step by step, until he had her cornered. When her back was against the wall, he locked his blade against her naginata and pressed until she was trapped by her own weapon.

"Never let a battle turn to a contest of strength." Cor dropped his stance and backed away. "You will always lose."

Reina swiped her arm across her forehead. "Yes, Sir."

"Drop the 'sir.' You don't title people who are beneath you; are you a queen or not?"

The expression on her face might have been a scowl, if she had been a little less regal. But with the way she was standing, somehow looking down her nose at him in spite of being a foot shorter, it just looked like dignified distaste. "I am not. I  _am_ a princess."

Cor studied her, as if trying to decide whether or not to disagree. He seemed to decide against it. "The result is the same. Come. Again."

They sparred again with similar results. Reina ducked and dove, putting increased effort into not being cornered, but he did it anyway. Cor was always right where he needed to be to press her disadvantage and he was always where she wasn't expecting.

"The best defense is a good offense.  _Again_. Put your back into it!"

Again they went; Cor drew her into the offensive. Her naginata spun, pressing every advantage. This time it was Reina who bore down on Cor with fire in her eyes; Iris could hardly follow the flow of movements as she drove him back toward the wall, one step at a time. For a moment, it looked as if she would win.

Then Cor slipped out of the way as if he had simply been testing her strength. He shrugged off her next strike, his expression never changing, and in half a step he was behind her. His blade moved around Reina like a living thing. She only barely got the end of her naginata up in time before it cut into her collarbone.

 _He could have done that whenever he wanted_ , Iris realized, stunned. Reina never had the advantage—he only let it appear as if she had.

"Your strikes are sloppy. Tighten up your form or your opponent will take advantage." Cor dropped his blade, putting his free hand between her shoulder blade and shoving.

Reina stumbled forward and rounded on him; for a moment there was indignation printed on her face before it cooled into something calmer. "Yes, Sir."

"Don't call me 'Sir.'"

Reina straightened, meeting Cor's gaze levelly. "I'll call you as I see fit."

Iris felt a surge of warmth. There she was, getting beaten by Cor time after time while he was being exceedingly mean to her, and Reina still kept her composure. That was what Iris wanted to be.

* * *

"Reina?"

Reina dragged the already-damp towel over the back of her neck as she turned. She looked a bit like she had gone swimming with all her clothes on. Too bad she hadn't. Instead her muscles felt like cooked noodles and she smelled a bit worse than that—not that hygiene had been on the top of her list of concerns for the past few months, but this was going a bit far. She hadn't been so done in since she had binge-trained with Gladio after the failed attempt on her father's life.

Iris was standing in the hall behind her. She stopped when Reina stopped, and stood, twisting her hands together like she was trying to decide whether or not to say something else—trying to work up the courage.

Reina should have said something encouraging—or at least greeted her—but for a moment she couldn't get her tired brain to produce words. They had been in Lestallum for less than two weeks and each day she struggled to keep up with the pace that Cor set for her. In time she would adjust—she knew because she had done it before—but until then it was a whirlwind of activity as she dragged herself from one training to the next, one meeting to another.

When she didn't respond, Gladio took it upon himself to speak, in her stead.

"She's tired, Iris; you can talk later."

Iris dropped her gaze. "Oh. Okay."

Reina could have hit him, but with the state of her arms, it wouldn't have been much more notable than a light breeze.

"Ignore him," Reina said. Iris looked up, hope on her face. "Come on, let's talk." She motioned down the hall, in the direction she had been going in the first place.

Iris didn't hesitate further. She skipped to catch up and fell into step beside Reina, not saying a word as they walked, though she gave every indication of wanting to. Reina wondered if it was Gladio she didn't want to talk in front of. That was easily enough remedied.

She pulled open the door to her room and motioned Iris inside. Gladio made to follow, but Reina stepped in front of him.

"You don't get to come."

"Cor—"

"When Cor said 'go where she goes', he didn't mean  _the shower_." Reina put one hand on her hip.

Judging by his expression, this hadn't occurred to him. Reina shut the door in his face. This was why Queen Crepera had chosen a female Shield.

Once they were alone, she looked at Iris. "What's up?"

Apparently it  _had_  been Gladio that kept Iris quiet; with him out of the way, she dove into an explanation without preamble. "I wanted to ask Gladio, but he'll just say no—and I know you're really busy, so I understand if you can't, but… you know how you did with Cor, today?" Iris asked.

Reina dug through her bag, looking for clothes that weren't dirty—she still hadn't unpacked; that meant admitting this was permanent. But Iris' question made her look up.

"Yeah." She wasn't likely to forget.

"Well… I want to do that, too."

Reina pulled a shirt from her bag, brow furrowing as she looked at Iris. "You want to get your ass handed to you by the Immortal?"

A grin flashed on Iris' face before she ducked her head. "No, I mean… I want to learn how to fight like you do—I can do some! Dad made sure. He said that every Amicitia needed to know, but then everything happened and… there wasn't enough time to finish."

Iris must have turned sixteen that year; Reina had only been a year older when she started her own focus on weapons training. She smelled the shirt in her hands, decided that 'less dirty' was equivalent to 'clean', these days, and set it aside to take with her.

Iris continued: "Everyone just wants to protect me, and I know I'm just a girl, but I'm an Amicitia, too!"

Reina set her bag aside, postponing her search for less-dirty pants. She leaned against the edge of the bed because her legs felt like water. "You don't have to be a man to be strong."

"I know! Because you're as strong as Gladio and… and Noctis… and the king."

Flattered though she was that Iris counted her along with her father, it was an undeserved comparison. "I just do what must be done."

"I want to do that, too." Iris twisted her hands together in front of her but, in spite of the nervous gesture, she met Reina's gaze. "Will you help me?"

What could she say? One more blade when they were desperate for arms—she couldn't turn that down, especially not when Iris was looking at her like that. "I'll help you."

"Really!?  _Thank you!_ "

Iris made a move like she meant to jump up and hug her. Reina held up both hands to nip that in the bud.

"Sure. But we'd better schedule training  _before_ Cor has a go at me. And you may as well join the training group with the hunters. The more you practice the better."

"I will!" Iris said.

Even before training with Cor, Reina wasn't sure what time she would have. Between Cor and Ignis she had just about as much practice as she could handle—and that in on top of the affairs of the city and kingdom. Still, she would find the time for Iris. Somehow.


	5. Belong

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######  _28-29 August, 756:_

Four days they had been in Lestallum, now. It seemed longer when she never slept, but the patchwork city still felt no more comfortable than it had the first time she had set foot inside, just after the fall of Insomnia.

From the balcony outside her room, Reina could see the streets still packed with people, though the clock at her bedside indicated it was well past midnight. Refugees slept on the pavement and the stairs. They slept sitting up and propped against each other. They slept wherever and whenever they were able. More poured into Lestallum every day; Reina suspected the city had neither the space nor the resources to accommodate this many people.

At least they had power. They had seen to that—clearing daemons from the power plant alongside Cor, Noctis' friends, and a handful of hunters. And now everyone expected her to fix everything else, as well. Why shouldn't they? These were precisely the sort of problem she was trained to deal with.

Was this what the Gods meant for her? All those years, all that training, everything she had done back in Insomnia had been at her father's side. She wasn't sure she could do it without him.

She twisted the ring on her finger. "Can you hear me, Father?"

No amount of time would have prepared her for losing him, but sometimes she thought if she had only been granted a few more moments with him…

She would have given anything to be with him again.

Now they would never share another meal together, casting silent glances between bites in comfortable silence because everything had already been said. He would never take another day off to spend Noctis' and her birthday with them. He would never be there when she woke in the middle of the night, sleepless and afraid of her own mind; he couldn't hug her just one more time and tell her everything would be alright. He would never walk through the gardens with her again, just as the winter snows melted, telling her stories about her mother.

And even having grown up knowing—fearing,  _hating_ —that he wouldn't live as long as everyone else's dad, she still hadn't been ready. Just as she had never been prepared to say goodbye to Noctis. But that was the way of the royal family.

This was what her father had raised her for. She always thought she would be doing it in Insomnia, with Noctis on the throne—never quite grasping the full truth of Noctis' fate—but this was it.

The people always came first, in Lucis. Their safety, their wellbeing, had always been her father's priority.

Now that fell to her.

Reina smoothed her fingers over the setting in the ring. "I wasn't ready for this," she told it.

But the world wasn't going to wait for her to be ready. She shut her eyes and gripped the railing, wishing she could call her father's voice from the ring. What would he have said to her if he could hear her doubts?

He had always said she would make a good queen.

She had never believed him. But regardless of what she believed, Lucis was in her hands, now. For better or worse, she would do what needed to be done.

" _Keep them safe,"_ Noctis had said.

"I will. Whatever the cost. I swear it."

"Your Highness?"

Reina turned, tucking her hands behind her back as her heart skipped a beat. Ignis was standing in the doorway, his head downturned. Had he been standing there all along, while she spoke to her father's ghost again?

"Ignis." At least he couldn't see the flush on her cheeks.

"I… thought I heard your voice… I apologize for the intrusion…"

"No—It's not a bother… there is no one here with me but a ghost."

"Ah, I see…" Ignis braced one hand on the door jamb and lifted his head. "His Majesty has left a hole in this world."

Reina didn't respond. He had certainly left a hole. A gaping crater and she was standing at the center, looking around at the devastation. He hadn't left a hole in her, though; at some point, it couldn't be called a hole anymore—not when more was gone than left behind.

For a brief, shining moment she had half believed she could have it all back. But he had been silent ever since that first time she put on the ring.

"I had not thought to find you awake," Ignis said at length.

"I don't sleep well, anymore." Reina folded her arms over her chest and looked back out at the city and its overcrowded streets—just one more reason not to sleep: all those people looking up at her, watching, waiting, expecting…

"Not since…?" Ignis took a step forward. She heard the tap of his cane along with the shuffle of her feet.

When had she last slept through the night? Before Father had died, certainly, but even in those few days between leaving Insomnia and the Fall, she hadn't slept. She had sat up all night with her phone pressed to her ear, hoping that if she just wished hard enough she would be back home. And before that: a few weeks of dreading what was to come, of savoring her last nights in Insomnia. She hadn't savored them enough.

"April twelfth." Reina didn't turn, though she could hear he had come to a stop behind her. "The Kingsglaive had been deployed to the front. The empire was coming, we knew that, but somehow we found time to smile, anyway. Father and I lay in the gardens and watched the sunset, golden against the Insomnian skyline. When I fell asleep that night… I still thought everything would be alright."

It was the day before she had first laid eyes on Ardyn. She wished she never had.

Ignis set one hand on her shoulder and Reina gave a start. She half-turned, looking up at him, but he didn't say anything. The air was heavy with unspoken words between them. She couldn't ask the question; she still wasn't sure if she even wanted to know. The uncertainty was uncomfortable, like dancing around him on hot coals, but the answer would be worse.

Father had always teased her about him.

The thought jumped, unbidden, to her mind. She shut her eyes, turning back toward the city. Just one more thing Father would never be able to do again. If he had still been alive, she could have confided in him. She would have curled up in his bed and told him everything—all about how Ignis had kissed her but, since then, hadn't mentioned it or given any outward indication that he was still interested. And if she had sat in her father's room, wearing one of his shirts to sleep in—so big they made her feel like a child again—he would have smiled and kissed her forehead and told her it would all work out.

But it wouldn't, anymore.

Reina sighed. She opened her eyes and looked out over the rooftops. "After he died I could only fall asleep in the Regalia, or with Noct… now they're both gone."

"And when we camped, in Niflheim?" Ignis asked.

When they camped, she had lain beside Ignis and found some flicker of comfort in his arms. It wasn't quite home, but it was better than nothing. She hadn't dreamed, not that night, at least. Didn't that mean something? Didn't it mean something that when they were together she felt a little less empty? Didn't it mean she wanted to know the answer?

Her throat was tight with all the words she couldn't say. Maybe she did want to hear that he didn't regret it… but she didn't want to know if he did. "Camp was… nice."

His hand brushed her back tentatively—almost cautiously, like he wasn't certain it was permitted, even after everything. Was he just as confused as she was? Did he wonder like she did?

She shut her eyes and took a breath; it felt like the first breath she had taken in a week.

For a while they simply stood, exchanging no words. It felt closer without them; any spoken words would have just been in the way of what needed to be said.

It was jarring, then, when he finally did break the silence.

"You should get some rest, Your Highness… I have no doubts that tomorrow will be equally long."

Reina opened her eyes, half-turning to look up at him. Suddenly, solitude didn't sound so appealing. "Stay with me."

"I… Of course. If that is what you would like."

"It is."

He let her take his hand, making no objection when she led him back inside her rooms, which had once been a suite in the Leville—not unlike the rooms they had all occupied on their first night in Lestallum—but now they were hers for an indefinite amount of time. The realization made her uncomfortable. For her whole life, she had lived in the Citadel. Even after Insomnia fell, she had still thought of it as home—and even now. But having these rooms, knowing that it  _wasn't_ just a temporary place to rest her head, like every other spot they had stayed for the past few months, made the loss of Insomnia feel so much more real.

Reina dropped onto the bed, but she didn't lay down. Even when Ignis took the space beside her, she sat in the center and looked out the open window.

Back home, the light of the crystal had always glowed outside her bedroom window and the sky was never properly black with the glimmering Wall overhead. But here it was just dark. Back home, her father had always been just across the hall for when she had a nightmare. But now he was gone. Everything was gone. Everything she had ever owned—Chika, the chubby little chocobo that she'd had as long as she could remember—was gone.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She thought to keep them quiet, but her breath hitched, anyway.

"Your Highness?" Ignis sat up, putting his hand on her shoulder.

Reina shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's nothing." Her voice cracked, exposing the lie in her words.

"I gather that it is  _something_."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, trying to decide what to tell him. Finally, unable to come up with a suitable evasion, she simply told the truth.

"It just hit me that—" her voice cracked "—Gods, this is so  _stupid_ —that I'll never see Chika again."

He was silent a moment. Probably trying to think of a way to agree that it  _was_ stupid without insulting her.

Then: "I do not find it stupid."

"It  _is_. After everything? My father is  _dead_ , Insomnia is burned, my brother is gone, and everyone expects  _me_ to do something about… about  _everything_. And I'm crying over a  _stupid chocobo_."

"Chika was not a stupid chocobo," Ignis said. "In fact, as I recall, she had a much better grasp of common wisdom than Cat—who, admittedly, had the disadvantage of belonging to Noctis."

That startled a laugh from her. It was a tearful laugh—half-sob—but it was enough to stem the flow of tears. Cat had been Chika's cactuar companion—because a two year old Noctis hadn't quite grasped the full pronunciation of 'cactuar' and, apparently, was strapped for more imaginative names.

Ignis' wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her from behind. "It is hardly a secret that people form incomprehensible bonds with possessions and so I hardly think mourning Chika is unjustified. Beyond that… sometimes we search for solace in the small things—a comfortable spot, a favorite movie, a familiar food—when times are dark. But to reach for such a comfort and find it gone…"

Reina sniffled. She held onto his arm and leaned back against him. Somehow, he made even her most ridiculous breakdown sound justified.

"It does  _not_ mean that you place more value in a stuffed chocobo than Noctis or your father or Insomnia. Sometimes, however, it is simpler to fixate on the small, rather than become overwhelmed by the large." Ignis leaned back with his arms still around her, until they were both lying down. He didn't let go of her, nor she of him.

She shut her eyes, just listening. She still missed Chika, but it was colored by the truth behind his words; she  _was_ avoiding the bigger things by thinking of Chika.

"Thank you, Ignis…" She turned toward him, tucking beneath his chin.

"Of course." He didn't wrap his arms around her immediately, but bit by bit he inched his hands across her back.

Reina didn't object, not to the contact nor to waiting. She just lay still and tried to focus on what she had, rather than what she didn't. Eventually she drifted off, that way—not entirely successful, but not entirely alone, either.

She didn't dream.


	6. Friends

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######  _29 August, 756:_

Lights out or not, he wasn't moving out of Hammerhead. Daemons be damned, that garage wasn't closing on his watch and he wasn't leaving Cindy to watch it on her own, either.

But Cor had sent word to say they finally found one of those kids and hell if he wasn't going to come make sure for himself, either. He caught a ride with some hunters heading that way—not that he needed either an escort or a ride, but it was convenient—and found himself in Lestallum. Along with half of Eos.

Cid wrinkled his nose and adjusted his cap. Damn those daemons and damn this bloody darkness. All those people, clogging up the streets should have been home living their own damn lives. Everything was cut up and torn apart, now. It was only going to get worse.

In spite of the crowds, it wasn't hard to find who he was looking for. It was like the number of people per square foot went up exponentially the closer he got; it shouldn't have been possible, but they were packed damn near shoulder-to-shoulder around her, except for a little pocket cleared by her bodyguard.

Bodyguard!  _Pah_. Like Reggie's girl needed some triangle-shaped boy with a car-sized chunk of metal for a blade to keep her safe. But that was Clarus, too. Always hovering about, waiting to take some sorry bastard's head off.

 _Had been_ Clarus.

Cid put on his best scowl and worked his way through the crowd without touching a single person. Something about that squinty-eyed glare made people back off. It was a skill.

The kid was talking to an old woman. Cid couldn't hear what she said, but it was probably something fluffy like 'everything'll be alright,' or 'the sun will come back.'  _Pah_.

She stopped talking and straightened when she caught sight of him, looking surprised. Why shouldn't she be? He was supposed to be in Hammerhead, after all. Must have been the case that he scared all the words out of her, because she didn't say a thing.

"Let's take a walk, kid."

* * *

He came out of the crowd and they split for him like some kind of messiah. Maybe it was just the glare, but he never stooped to actually pushing people out of the way. In fact, as far as Reina could see, he never touched a single person.

She stopped mid-sentence, all thoughts of what she had been about to say chased from her head. Cid had never seemed to like her much. In fact, Cid had never seemed to like anyone much. She gathered that he  _did_ like Cindy, at least. He had liked Reina's father, as well, though he never came out and said as much; she could tell by the way he spoke of him and, when she considered, Father had always been fond of Cid, as well.

He drew her away from the crowd and it felt like she had little choice but to make her excuses and follow him. She hadn't thought there were any streets in Lestallum that weren't packed with people, but somehow he found one. A quiet little corner on the overlook where they could see the glow of the meteor down below. Gladio was the only one who followed, faithfully carrying out Cor's orders.

Until Cid objected, at least.

"Beat it, boy. Didn't invite you." Cid shot Gladio a signature glare. "Yer daddy was always nosy, too."

Reina ducked her head to hide a smile.

"I swore to the Marshal that I would stay with her," Gladio said.

"Tch. Cor's got a stick so far up his butt it's comin' out the other end. Now I'm sure this here princess can tell you if she needs you, ain't that right?" Cid looked at Reina.

She glanced from him to Gladio, wiping the smile off her face and shifting her mask into place. "I can handle myself, Gladiolus."

He hesitated, still, but eventually agreed to step away, back down the alley. She could still see him lurking there at the entrance, but gathered that was as close as she would get to having him gone.

When she turned back around, Cid was studying her. She fought not to squirm. He didn't have the same regal gaze that her father had used whenever he was taking a person's measure, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable. She still recalled the first time Cid had turned that look on her, right after they had arrived in Hammerhead with the broken down Regalia. He had lost no time telling Noct to shape up, but he didn't spare a single word for her. The last time she had seen him had been in Altissia. He hadn't said anything to her then, either.

Now he did.

"So," he said, "Yer brother's gone, but I come by and find you surrounded by  _his_ friends. You ain't that boy, kid. Where's your friends at?"

Reina blinked at him, taken aback. No greeting, no 'sorry to hear about Noct,' no 'how are you holding up?', just 'why don't you have friends?' She wasn't sure what she had expected, but that wasn't it. For some reason, though, it reminded her of her father. He was always asking after her friends, too.

"I... don't know. I suppose they were in Insomnia when it fell." She hadn't really thought about it, before. Were they really her friends if she hadn't even spared a thought for what had become of them? She hadn't seen most of them for years.

Cid waved a dismissive hand. "I ain't talking about the pals you have a laugh with over  _afternoon tea_. I'm talking about your  _friends._ Those that stick by your side when the sun goes out and help you up when you fall. Them that you know as good as yourself."

Reina dropped her gaze to the ring on her hand. "He was in Insomnia when it fell, too."

She wasn't going to let the tears fall, though her vision blurred and her nose stung. She fought them back. Cid was quiet for a moment; when she hazarded a glance up at him, she caught a glimpse of something like sympathy on his usually harsh features. His hand landed on her shoulder, surprising her for a second time.

"Yer daddy ain't gone, kid. He's right here." He jabbed a gloved finger at her sternum and Reina looked up at him fully. "You ain't gonna let him go, right?"

She shook her head.

"Then he ain't going nowhere." He ruffled her already messy hair. "But you gotta figure out who else you want standing next to you when this night gets real dark. Friends'll make you stronger."

That was what her father had always said.

"Reina—"

Reina turned when Gladio called from the end of the alley.

"The Marshal's looking for you."

She grimaced, looking back at Cid. "The Immortal beckons."

"You go when he calls?" Cid asked.

"I have to."

"Nah." Cid dropped his hand from her shoulder. "Reggie's girl wouldn't jump just 'cause someone said 'jump.' She'd do it 'cause she meant to, anyway."

In spite of herself, Reina smiled at him. Maybe she had been wrong. He didn't dislike her. He just spent so much time being determinedly grumpy that he didn't know how to say so. The words he  _did_ say, though, were better than any claims of kinship or solidarity.

He called her Regis' daughter.

"It's what must be done," Reina said. "To get to where I need to go."

Cid looked at her for a long, quiet moment. He didn't smile, quite, but there were creases around his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Go on, then! What're you doing standing about talking to this old grease monkey, for? Get going."

She did. But only because that was what she meant to do in the first place.


	7. Betrayal

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######  _30 August, 756:_

Life went on. Reina met Iris for training each morning at a time that would once have been dawn. Sometimes Ignis joined them, other times he met up with Reina afterward. It would take more than a few months to learn how to fight effectively with a blind man, but they were making progress and she was never going to walk away from this. Not when every day she caught him wringing his hands across his cane with that look on his face like he just wanted to snap it in half. Father used to look like that, too, when he was held back by weakness and accelerated age. She would hang before she let Ignis believe he had lost his utility.

After Ignis, Reina met with Cor whether she had the energy or not. He worked her until her muscles were water and her lungs were burning. Then he would send her away, looking mildly disappointed. He never broke a sweat.

And then the kingdom was waiting for her. The streets were overful with more refugees pouring in from outposts too small to hold back the daemons. They needed shelter; they needed food; they needed a sliver of hope. But Lucis was short on all of those things. The power lines were still down across the continent. They didn't have enough manpower to rebuild them, but without electricity the safe havens were dwindling rapidly. That was to say nothing about the fact that, with a scant six hours of daylight per day, crops were struggling to grow and canned food would only take them so far.

Between three different training sessions and two dozen governmental concerns, she  _should_ have fallen into bed at the end of the day and slept like a rock until her alarm went off in the morning.

Except she never set an alarm. Because the Dreams hadn't gone away.

They danced through her mind at night, a black parade of death, whispering stories of the past and daring her to lose herself to regret. They dragged her back to the Crown City on a night when she had been a hundred miles away, but she knew the events like they were etched in her soul. So many nights the Gods had sent her the same images. The same experiences.

Betrayal. Treason. Regicide.

Insomnia burned beneath humming magitek engines as daemons battled kings. The Wall—shattered; the crystal—gone. Amidst all the chaos, amidst a hundred thousand souls crying out in anguish as they left the physical realm too soon, snakes passed without notice. They struck from within, poisoning the king's elite army and one by one brother killed sister until only traitors were left standing.

 _Kingsglaive_.

At the forefront, standing proud before informants and turncoats, the man in the magitek armor advanced with one goal in mind:

Kill the king.

Thunder cracked as lightning splintered across liquid metal armor. Reina cried out, lost in the moment, knowing she had seen the same a hundred times before but still desperate to stop it:

" _Father!_ "

—but her words were lost in time.

The magitek mask cracked. The man beneath showed through—impossible. Absurd and impossible.

His blade deflected the magic.

Then it struck.

She watched, tears streaming down cheeks three months away, as the sword punched through her father's spine. She watched, sobs subsiding into whimpers, as he breathed his last breath and…

And reached into his pocket to draw out his ringing phone.

Her face showed on the screen.

She had called him that night… just around eleven.

She had called him just as he died.

When the sun rose over a crumbling Insomnia, she woke in Lestallum three months later, shivering and drenched in sweat and tears. Hands grasped her shoulders, shaking her.

"Reina? Can you hear me?"

Ignis.

She grabbed his arms and hung on with both hands, digging her fingers in and grappling for purchase in the real world. Her chest was tight; though she gasped for air, she couldn't get enough of it.

" _Reina_."

How long had he been there? She hadn't heard a thing in her Dream. Father had always been the only one who could ever wake her—except that one time with Noctis.

"I'm—" The words caught. She sucked in a breath and tried again. "I'm alright."

She didn't sound it. But at least the world was coming back into focus. Now she could see Ignis wasn't the only one in her room. At the foot of the bed stood Gladio; in the doorway, Prompto peered around Cor.

So she really had screamed. Half the hotel must have heard—Cor's room wasn't even on the same floor.

She shut her eyes. Her head was swimming as she struggled to find the line between Dream and reality.

Drautos. All those years—Drautos and his  _stupid_ Glaives!

It didn't make her feel any better, knowing he was dead. He had deserved so much worse. If she had him here, she would have—well. Never mind.

When she opened her eyes again, nothing much had changed. Everyone was still staring at her or exchanging uncomfortable glances with each other. It was only to be expected—no one but Ignis had witnessed this before—but that didn't stop her from wishing they would all just  _go away_. Especially Cor.

"I'm alright," she repeated, more firmly this time.

They looked to Cor—or everyone except Ignis, did—recognizing the dismissal but not wanting to leave her alone.

"I'll stay with her," Gladio volunteered.

"You'll do nothing of the sort." Reina's nails dug into Ignis' forearms before she realized what she was doing. He gripped her shoulders more firmly. "Ignis can stay. The rest of you—get out."

With one last, fleeting glance, the three filed out. Reina held tight to Ignis' arms until the outer door clicked shut behind Gladio. Then she deflated, releasing him and covering her face.

The tears came, unbidden and silent. Months had passed and still she couldn't fathom why the Gods insisted on torturing her with visions of what she could not change. What good did it do, knowing that she had called him as he drew his last breath? How could she ever be better off knowing that while she had lain in bed in Galdin, gripped with fear and panic, he had stared at his ringing phone, unable to answer?

The bed shifted as Ignis lay down beside her. His fingers brushed her cheeks, feeling damp where the tears fell even though he couldn't see them. He drew her hands away from her face and dried her cheeks. More followed, but it didn't seem to deter him; he persisted until she buried her face in his shirt and breathed him in. Cinnamon and coffee. She fixed the smell in her mind and wrapped up in it.

When, at long last, she lay still in his arms, her breathing coming slow and regular once more—and only then—did he speak.

"What did you dream?"

Reina held onto his shirt. She didn't open her eyes, didn't look up at him.

"Everything."

She poured out her Dream, recounting a tale that no one still alive knew to tell, save her. The Dreams weren't like regular dreams. The memories wouldn't fade in time; they would remain fixed in her mind just like any other—all the sharper for how painful it was.

If only she could forget.

Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, though she only remembered waking up.

It was their birthday. At least, the clock told her it was, though the day still hadn't dawned. A year ago she might have made some irate comment about how bad Dreams weren't how she wanted to start her birthday.

A year ago she would have had someone to make the comment to.

Noctis had been gone for eleven days. Her father had been gone for three and a half months. And though Ignis slept, still, in the bed beside her, Reina had never felt more alone.

Never before had she spent a birthday apart from them. Every year it was the same: the three of them together, somehow, no matter how much was going on in the kingdom. Father put everything aside, once a year, for them; from dawn to dawn he was theirs alone. He had always said it was the only day when he had the privilege of spoiling them.

Reina sat up in bed, pushing the blankets back and staring at the black sky outside. No stars twinkled; no moon shone. It was as if someone had cast a blanket over Eos and cut off the light from beyond.

Fitting. The light in the night sky was gone.

"Reina?" A hand brushed the small of her back, then fell away, as if he had thought better of the motion.

The circumstances suggested that she should say 'good morning.' The situation contradicted it; she said nothing.

"Did you manage to sleep?" Ignis asked.

"Yes, I think I did." Somewhere between the tears and emotional exhaustion, she had drifted off in his arms. For a couple hours, at least.

Behind her, Ignis shifted. His hand landed on her shoulder, his touch light and tentative as if—in spite of having spent the night in her bed—he wasn't certain that he was permitted to touch her. She could feel his warmth against her back, but his chest never touched her. Just being so close to him—not quite in contact—made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. If he had leaned forward an inch, everything would have fallen into place. But perhaps he didn't want that. He was her brother's retainer, his royal advisor. What was she to him but Noctis' twin?

"I would wish you a happy birthday," Ignis said. "I gather, however, that it will only make you miss them more."

He had remembered. How did he even know what day it was? In between everything else that had happened, he still had a calendar in his mind.

"Thank you, all the same." She turned to smile at him before remembering he couldn't see it. Her heart sank at the thought. All those nonverbal communications that they couldn't use, anymore. Perhaps he could  _hear_ the appreciation in her tone, but it wasn't quite the same.

That night when they had cooked together, though, they hadn't spoken. They did the same in combat, exchanging information through the brush of a hand here or there. What, then, was the touch equivalent of a smile?

He was taller than her by a whole foot, but most of it was in the legs. Standing, Reina's eye level was at Ignis' sternum, but sitting as they were, the difference wasn't as substantial. Was the room spinning? They hadn't been quite so close since the day he had kissed her. If she leaned back and tilted her head…

Ignis' head turned down toward hers. "You are… full welcome."

There was a catch in his voice like hesitation. Had he been intending to say something else?

Ignis didn't make rash decisions. He was twice as guarded as she was, and she was as solidly walled up as the Crown City had been a few months before. Why, then, had he kissed her? Underneath his calm exterior there was something that he either didn't dare to express, or didn't know how to express. But in that moment, believing that they would never see each other again, that he would never have another chance, some of it had slipped out all the same.

His face was close enough that she found herself studying his lips. Would he ever kiss her again, in the absence of such external pressure? "Ignis—"

She never got to find out. Someone pounded on the door to the hall.

"Reina?" Gladio's voice called through the closed door. Of course. It  _would_ be Gladio. Closed in her room alone with Ignis and he still found a way to interrupt. "Some new arrivals outside. Cor said you'll want to see them."

Reina let out a breath, dropping her gaze and turning away from Ignis. It was just as well Gladio had decided to interrupt when he did. Had she really been going to ask Ignis if he regretted kissing her? Something about the night terrors must have twisted her head around backward. Ignis was Noct's friend and nothing more. And if, somehow, he  _did_ like her, it wouldn't have been real. All sorts of people thought they were in love with her, when it was really the title they were enamored of. Just an idea.

Besides, she had responsibilities.

"Very well," she called back. "I will be out momentarily."

Ignis' hand slipped from her shoulder as she moved to stand up. He didn't stop her or try to pursue her; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Maybe she didn't want to know.

She dressed and left the Leville with Ignis following. It was almost familiar now, walking through the darkened streets of Lestallum, in between the rows of people pressed against the buildings that lined every walkway. Some people bowed when she passed, others stared with empty eyes, and still others held their heads down without meeting anyone's gaze. To all of them Reina gave the courtesy of a nod—any sort of recognition to make them feel less alone, less forgotten. She might have stopped to talk to some if she hadn't been drawn forward by Cor's summons.

She found him near the entrance of the city—the makeshift gate guarded by Crownsguards. Ignis and Gladio shadowed her, both of them silent. With Cor were standing some familiar faces, though most of them she had never seen before.

They were faces from her Dream.

Her jaw tightened; she closed her hands into fists and hid them behind her back.

"Your Highness," Cor said as she stopped beside him, "I thought you might want to see this."

He motioned to the man who stood beside him. The man held out his hand, palm up, and flames crackled to life in the air.

They still had her father's magic. They had  _killed_ him, and they still held his magic.

"It returned about ten days ago, Your Highness," the Glaive said.

That was the day she had put on the ring. The day Father had granted her his magic. Were they truly channeling his power  _through her_?

"There are only a few of them here—half a dozen," Cor said, "But even that could be a priceless asset."

He wanted to  _use them_? The traitors who had killed her father and razed Insomnia? The turncoats who had sold out their own kingdom to Niflheim?

"More than just us survived," said the Glaive. "I know they'll come—they'll want to help."

"Will they?" Reina stepped forward, looking up at the Glaive. She knew him.

"Of course, Your Highness," he said.

She took another step. He didn't move, but his eyes flicked to either side, looking for some escape. What must her face have looked like? Poorly restrained fury, probably.

"Libertus Ostium. Man of Galahd. I know your face. I know your soul," Reina said, " _Traitor._ "

He did take a step back, this time. "No, Your Highness. I never followed Glauca."

"You willingly threw your lot in with those who did, though you were too fool to realize." Reina stepped forward again, her fists clenched tight to her sides, now. She spat his own words at him. "'I'm done listening to that bastard's lies. He may sit on a throne, but he ain't no king. At least not of mine.'"

His eyes widened. "How—?"

" _I know your soul_ ," Reina repeated. "Did you think all that information you spilled was going to the greater good? Did you really think some imbeciles in a back room could protect your home better than the king?"

"It  _was_ wrong. I know that, now—I never meant—"

"What you know in hindsight, what you meant—both are irrelevant. You may not have the same filth on your hands as they do—" her gaze flicked toward his comrades "—but you are still guilty of treason."

Libertus dropped his gaze and didn't look back up. Reina stepped passed him and addressed each of his companions, one at a time.

"Cultro Tergum. You killed five of your brothers in cold blood before they even realized what was happening. Impias Fraudis. Only three throats did  _you_ cut; they were people you shared drinks with the night before. Anguis Serpens…." Her eyes flicked toward Libertus. "You ambushed Crowe Altius on her way to Tenebrae. Perhaps you didn't pull the trigger yourself, but you certainly didn't stop Luche from doing so."

" _You WHAT?!"_

Reina stepped back as Libertus lunged with a fistful of fire.

"No," Reina said. "Not my father's magic. Kill each other if you want. I don't care. But you are not worthy of his strength."

All these fools had only seen an old man on a throne. They were meant to be his glaive when he couldn't muster the strength to lift one on his own and so they thought they were stronger than him. They had no idea.

She could feel the strands of magic, now. Once, the traitors had been bound to her father. Now his magic beat beneath  _her_ breast; their strength came from her. She grasped at the strings; dozens, at least, sprang from her, pointing to all corners of Lucis. She severed them all.

The fire died in Libertus' hands. Anguis' lightning dissolved halfway through its arc.

Cor rounded on her. "What have you done?"

"They have no power of their own. It was stolen from the man they betrayed. I have merely taken it back." Reina met his gaze, unflinching.

"Reina,  _one_ Glaive with His Majesty's magic is worth twenty of my Crownsguards—a hundred of these half-trained refugees. We  _need_ them."

He had no concept of what they had done. He heard their crimes and he didn't care; for him, they were in the past. Nothing was ever in the past for Reina. Not when she walked through Insomnia in her Dreams.

She stared at Cor, heedless of the fight that had broken out behind her. "No. We don't."

"You are making a mistake," Cor said. "Restore their magic."

"No." Reina stepped past him, moving back down the street. She paused, glancing at the Crownsguards who stood with Cor. "Lock them in the basement with the other criminals," she ordered. "With any luck, they'll kill each other before I execute them for treason."


	8. Anniversary

__

######  _31 August 756 - 17 May, 757:_

For those unfortunate few, life in Lucis went on.

As summer wore into autumn the daylight hours dwindled; by the time they reached the new year, each day had a scant five hours of daylight. Most of the crops from before had grown long and spindly in their fruitless pursuit of sunlight. The fields adapted. They grew leafy greens and root vegetables, instead. Hunter protection of the fields became more essential than ever before. They were stretched thin.

Civilians were still holed up all across Lucis. Too many places—too many people—for a meagre task force to possibly protect. It was impossible to tell how many were dead, already.

They had word from Tenebrae and Accordo now and then. The radio towers, it seemed, had not been casualty to the daemons. Tenebrae had become the sole refuge in all of Niflheim; they were slowly being evacuated to Lucis because the whole population of Gralea—now made up of daemons—was creeping over the mountains day by day and when they reached Tenebrae no one was going to survive. Accordo, at least, had the ocean on all sides. Their concerns were less with daemons and more with food and fresh water.

So it was that Reina found herself at the head of one of three—soon to be two—surviving nations in all of Eos. Few days went by when she didn't want to give up. If she thought too far ahead, the menacing storm of uncomfortable possibilities swallowed everything up. What if Lucis couldn't support all of Niflheim's people? What if they never fixed the power lines? What if the Starscourge started spreading through her people? And what happened when, inevitably, they had too little light to grow food anymore? What happened when Lucis had no daylight and no electricity and no army to protect them from the encroaching daemons?

She tried to drown out the worries by working harder, but they just came back to her whenever she slowed. It didn't matter if she hadn't slept more than ten hours in as many days. She still couldn't sleep through the night. Not even with Ignis.

Not for the first time, she wondered if someone hadn't made a terrible mistake. It was harder to believe that the Gods had a plan when she had always thought she would be outside of it and instead found herself right in the middle. Wasn't Noctis supposed to be king? What the hell was  _she_  doing at the top of the monarchy? And what was meant to happen when Noct returned with scarcely enough time to say goodbye? Surely no one in their right mind had looked at Reina and made a conscious decision to give her the kingdom for an indefinite amount of time.

But the Astrals  _did_ have a plan. They understood the threat to the world better than any human. All she had to do was make sure everyone survived to see it.

" _Keep them safe. Until I get back."_

Whatever it took. It was what her father would have done.

He was still ever on her mind. When she dragged herself between trainings, when Cor berated her for bad decisions, while everything fell apart no matter how she tried to hold it together, she thought of him.

It never got easier. Not in six months. Not in nine or ten. Near eleven, as she looked back and marveled at how she had managed to drag herself so far, it only hurt more.

And today, it was worse than ever.

Reina had watched the calendar's relentless march all month, knowing—telling herself—that dates didn't matter, that Insomnia would be just as ruined, that her father would be just as dead, no matter what the  _day_ was.

Even so, the weight of it settled on top of her when she woke on May 17th, one year to the day since the fall of Insomnia. She opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling in the dim glow from the floodlights outside her shutters, and shut them again.

Tears spilled, hot and heavy, from the corners of her eyes, wetting the hair at her temples. Wasn't it meant to get easier, as time passed? It hadn't. She didn't feel any better, now, than she had a year ago when she woke in Galdin Quay, screaming in the night. If anything, she felt worse. At least, back then, Noctis had been with her. Now she only had Ignis and no matter how tight he held her, he couldn't make her forget that her family was gone. He couldn't make her dream of anything but her father's death.

Reina sat up when she couldn't breathe anymore. The motion caused Ignis to stir; he was a light sleeper, like her—it was a miracle either of them ever slept at all.

"Reina?" His hand brushed the spot on the bed where she had been laying, then touched her back.

She didn't respond. If she spoke, her voice would crack and the silent tears would turn into sobs. So she just pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. The tears were a steady stream, now. She didn't try to dry them.

The bed shifted when Ignis sat up. He slid his hand up her back, over her shoulder, and wrapped his arms around her. He knew she was crying, even without hearing her voice or stifled sobs. Maybe he heard the catch in her throat as she tried to hold herself together and instead breathed in fits and starts. He pressed his cheek to her head and held her tighter—not asking, not prying, just holding. She turned toward his shoulder, grabbing onto the front of his T-shirt and letting go of everything else. She stopped trying to cry silently; she wasn't fooling anyone.

One year. How had it been so long ago? For most of her life she had known that she would have to say goodbye to Father  _and_ Noctis before she was ready. The knowledge hadn't made it any easier.

She had realized both those things on the same night; the night she Dreamed of the prophecy and Noctis' fate and had gone to seek solace in her father's bed. At fourteen years old, she had known without knowing that her father sustained the Wall with his own strength, but that night she understood. Looking at him in the dark, swearing she would never tell Noctis about her Dream, she had noticed for the first time how  _tired_ Father was. And once she had noticed it, she couldn't un-see it. Somehow, she had deluded herself into believing it would all be alright.

It wasn't.

Nothing was alright.

Now she would never see him again. She would never tell him that Ignis had kissed her in Zegnautus—almost a year ago, now.

How many years had he teased her about Ignis? How often had he insisted she liked Ignis while she denied everything?

Now she would have given anything to see that smug smile.

_I miss you, Father. I miss you so much._

Eventually, whether because her tears ran out or because the constant motion of Ignis' fingers in her hair was soothing, she did catch her breath. When her sobs subsided and her breathing levelled, Ignis brushed her tears away.

"What is it?" He asked.

"May seventeenth."

She didn't give more of an explanation and he didn't need one. He had held her a year ago, as well. But at least, one year ago, she still had some hope left.

"You never saw him in the ring, either?" Ignis asked after a moment.

Almost a year and she had never told them what happened when she put on the ring. At the time, it had been too close; she wanted something to share just with Father. If no one else knew, it made him feel nearer. After that, it had just seemed too late to say. But now...

"I saw him."

He stopped running his fingers through her hair. It deserved some sort of explanation.

"He saved my life, that day in Niflheim. I stood before the Lucii and was told I could never wield their power—that, in spite of my bloodline, it wasn't for me. They meant to send me back with nothing between me and Ardyn… but Father was there. He gave me  _his_ magic and that… that's all I have, now. I can't use the ring. Not really. I don't have anything more than a Glaive."

Ignis was silent for a long time. Too long, but she didn't move. Eventually he resumed smoothing his hand over her hair and he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't tell you about the magic because I was ashamed. Every Caelum is meant to be able to use the Ring of the Lucii without judgement from the kings of old. But not me. What does that say about me?"

He held her a little tighter, not immediately responding. Even Ignis had held the power of kings, for a time; they had made him pay for it with his sight, but they had at least given him that option.

"They did not burn you," he said, at length.

"No."

"I suspect that means more. Those who are unworthy of the ring's power are punished for their hubris—but they left you unscathed. There is much we don't yet understand about your magic and why it is so different from all the others of the royal line. The fact that it is unknown doesn't mean it is bad."

"Father used to tell me that my magic was different because I was meant for something special—that he just didn't know what it was, yet."

"Your father was a wise man."

"I never believed him."

She still didn't.

Why did she Dream? Why could she see terrible things that no one else could? Why  _couldn't_ she do the things that every one of her ancestors could do—connect to the crystal and the Astrals and draw upon the magic therein?

"What do you believe?" Ignis asked.

"That I was a mistake. An afterthought. Noctis was always meant to be the Chosen King, but Mother had twins and not even the Gods knew what to do with the other one. Just an accident. Just an extra."

"That is  _not true_."

"Maybe." She shrugged, sitting up. "I want to go to Hammerhead. Come with me? Cor's going to be angry."

He let her go, but the twist of his lips said he didn't want to let the subject go. Why did it matter so much? Everyone in Lucis knew she was the spare, by now.

"Why Hammerhead?"

"That's where Father's memorial is."

"Ah. Very well. Let us face Cor together, then."

Cor was on the other side of the Leville in the training room, which had, at one time or another, been just another hotel room. Now it was gutted and repurposed and served as Cor's most frequent haunt.

"You're late," he said when they entered. "Get dressed; I don't want to waste any more time."

"No," she said. "I'm going to Hammerhead."

"For what purpose?"

"To visit Father." Or as close as she could get.

"Driving three hours across Lucis on a personal whim is unwise, Your Highness. In addition to the work it will take time away from, Hammerhead is outside of the new grid. They don't have light that far out, yet. It's far too dangerous."

"It is not up for debate. I have informed you that I  _am_ going to Hammerhead. If you find my current level of protection insufficient, then you are welcome to join me." She turned and walked out of the training room, brushing Ignis' arm on the way out so that he followed her.

Predictably, Cor followed after them at a trot. "And if Ardyn should appear?"

"I doubt he intends to kill me, right now. He seems more concerned about toying with me."

"How can you be sure?"

Reina stopped walking and rounded on him. Ignis took an extra step before he, too, halted. "I am certain of nothing, Marshal; but I must make decisions based on the information I know and not on idle speculation and 'what if's. I am doing  _the best I can_. So I would thank you to stop questioning every choice I make."

He didn't respond. There was a flicker of something across his face. Regret? Unlikely.

She turned and kept walking. It was becoming more and more clear why Cor had been marshal of the Crownsguard and not one of Father's advisers. He had the finesse of a rock. Had he been so difficult while Father was king?

_I don't know how you could stand him, Father._

Cor was silent the rest of the way out. Small blessings. In fact, he hardly said a word all the way to Hammerhead. No one else spoke much, either. Reina couldn't tell if anyone else remembered what day it was, but she didn't care enough to ask.

It was still dark by the time they pulled into Hammerhead. The sun didn't rise until close to noon, now, and it set less than four hours after. Soon it would stop rising at all. Perpetual night across Lucis. They needed light at every outpost before that happened, but she couldn't worry about that, right now.

Right now, all she could think about was that the last time she had been in Hammerhead, she and Noctis had been rolling in the dirt laughing about 'Mr Hammerproof Thickskull.' It didn't seem so funny, anymore. Back then the sun had been shining. Back then she hadn't been so alone. Back then she hadn't been sitting on Father's throne and wishing it was anyone but her.

It  _was_ funny that those days—the weeks following the Fall of Insomnia when she couldn't sleep for nightmares, when she couldn't eat because it was all ash, when she couldn't feel anything but lost and adrift, when she couldn't shut her eyes except in the Regalia—now looked bright.

But not  _that_ sort of funny.

Father's memorial had grown. A year ago it had been a little tower of smooth rocks, a necklace, and a keychain. The last time she had seen it, the collection of memories and trinkets had been growing. It was bigger, still, now.

Reina dropped to her knees in the dirt, ignoring Cor as he took up a position a few yard off to her right. The vase of flowers was full—still fresh. Someone in Hammerhead was doing that. The writing in the dirt had long since washed away, but someone had carved a plaque:

_In Loving Memory of_

_Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII_

_Beloved King and Father_

_May he Rest in Peace_

was set in wood at the base of the makeshift memorial.

Reina traced the letters of his name. A year ago, she had never imagined that anyone except her and Noctis would ever notice this place. Why should they? It was just a pile of rocks outside of Hammerhead. But someone in Hammerhead  _had_ noticed—Cid, probably—and from there it had spread. She hadn't realized that anyone outside of Insomnia even appreciated the fact that they once had a king who had given everything to protect them. And now he was gone.

Ignis lowered onto one knee beside and behind her, putting his hand on her back.

"How does it look?" He asked.

"Someone made a plaque. But it's too dark out here. He should have a light."

He was a light.  _Had been_  a light. She was still chasing it, but every day the night got darker and it was a little harder to see.

Ignis reached into his inner coat pocket and passed her something. A pillar candle.

Did he know she was staring at him?

"There were candles in the Leville. I realized I had been remiss; I hadn't left anything for him."

Reina took it, silent in her gratitude. With a spark of her father's magic she lit the wick and set the flickering light beside his memorial.

It was hard to say how long she sat there, staring at the little flame as she lost herself in memories. She didn't shed any more tears. The pain she felt was too deep for that. She remembered nights spent sitting on his lap in meetings with the royal council because she couldn't sleep. She remembered listening in, as she grew older, making herself focus because this was what Father did. She remembered the first time he pushed her to speak before them. Everything she was doing now— _trying_  to do, now—he had taught her.

She hadn't meant to follow in his footsteps, this way, but life rarely worked out how she intended it to.

Eventually, someone pulled her away. It was Ignis or Cor, but she didn't look and she didn't resist. She dropped into the car next to Ignis, trying to think of the good because that was what she had done while Noctis was still with her.

_I'll do my best for Lucis, Father. I'll protect our people and safeguard the future. For a brighter tomorrow._

What would he have said, if she could have heard his response?

A melancholy smile settled on her lips as she rested her head on Ignis' shoulder.

He would have said: "I know."


	9. Harsh Words

###### 23 August, 757:

Cor's blade swung through the air and struck Reina's naginata along the staff. She shifted her weight, twisting and catching his blade along the edge of hers. The move almost wrenched his sword from his grip. Almost. He followed her turn, stepping to the side and following the resistance. When it loosened he pulled his blade free and turned the motion into another strike.

A year ago she would have just barely blocked his attack and retreated to keep her balance. Today she used the leverage of her polearm to swipe his sword away and swung the sharp end across in a neat strike. It very nearly landed.

Cor stepped back, moving both arms out of the way to avoid Reina's blade. She pressed her advantage, lunging, but keeping her hands positioned farther down the staff, using the distance to her benefit. He could block her strikes, but he couldn't get close enough to ever do any damage—not if she used her naginata correctly.

And she was, now. At least she was doing a considerably better job of it than she had been, before. Not that it was anything to get cocky about, but she was dedicated. He hadn't expected that. Perhaps he had believed that, when saddled with the kingdom on her own, she would shy away from the responsibility like her twin did. That was unfair of him. She had never given him any reason to doubt her. Except that debacle with the Kingsglaive.

"Enough." Cor knocked her blade aside and stepped back again. "That's enough for today. You have done well. You're improving quickly."

Surprise showed on her usually impassive face for a moment before she tucked it away, lowering her naginata and standing up straight. Had he been so stingy with his praise that she was surprised when he said she was doing well?

Of course I have, Cor thought, bitterly.

He had been unreasonably hard on her ever since she had returned from Niflheim. He pushed her harder than he had ever pushed any Crownsguard trainee: harder than he had pushed Gladio, harder than he had pushed Ignis. She knew it and she hated him for it. She had every reason to believe that he did it just for the sake of pushing her; he had never given her an explanation. He should have tried to months ago, but now it just seemed too late.

The path she walked was harsher than any of theirs. If he could prepare her for that, shape her so that she could face what was to come, then it would be worth the hatred he earned. That was a poor excuse for making her hate him, however.

"Walk with me," Cor said.

Reina made no objection. She never objected; sometimes something like rebellion showed in her eyes before she hid it away. She made decisions like a queen, she looked like a queen, she spoke like a queen, she walked like a queen, but she still wouldn't step up and take command.

You trained her well, Regis, Cor thought, studying her through the corner of his eye.

Sometimes he wondered if Regis hadn't know this would happen—or something like it. Noctis was bound to give his life for the prophecy and Lucis would have been left without a ruler, if not for Reina. All those years, Regis had prepared her for that purpose. She had taken to it well.

They slipped out into the city. It was only just afternoon by the clocks, but the sun was already dimming like dusk. People pressed in when they caught sight of her. That was another thing she had done well in the past months. She gave them hope.

Cor walked more slowly, allowing time for Reina to stop and greet the refugees who lined the streets. Progress was being made on more permanent housing solutions, but it was slow progress. As things were, they were still short on experienced hunters—and it was impossible to travel and collect resources without hunters. If only Reina hadn't disbanded the Kingsglaive. That was still a sticking point between them. Hell, everything was a sticking point between them, but the Kingsglaive was a particularly contentious one. She did so well so often that it only made her screw-ups that much more difficult to accept. And disbanding the Kingsglaive had definitely been a mistake.

At length they reached a quiet space near the outer edge of Lestallum. They lingered in silence for a moment, Reina waiting for him to speak and Cor trying to gather his thoughts. He looked out toward the glow of the meteor.

What he wanted to tell her was that she could trust him; she could talk to him and confide in him. What he wanted to tell her was that he saw so much of her father in her it was almost like stepping back in time—that sometimes he forgot they weren't friends, but when he remembered he wanted to change it.

What he said, instead, was: "Have you been training with magic?"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Reina's posture stiffened. She cast a glance toward him and tilted her chin up. It was the same look Regis had always worn when he was preparing to be stubborn.

"I fear I have been kept busy with six hours of training a day on top of my responsibilities to the kingdom. If I have failed to meet your expectations, I sincerely apologize."

Cor had never been able to understand how Regis managed to sound both eminently polite and cutting at the same time. It was another skill he had passed on to his daughter.

"No, I—" Cor met her gaze, grappling for something to make amends with. "I was merely asking. You are doing well for the circumstances."

Praise seemed to catch her off-guard, but she recovered her balance quickly enough. "Thank you."

Cor rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand that the ring is a burden. Your father bore it for years and he paid the price. But if the benefits are worth the cost…"

"I know." Reina dropped her gaze, her voice growing quieter.

Did the weight of the ring bother her? It had bothered Regis, at the start.

"I don't fully understand how it works, yet," she admitted, "But I will learn."

Cor couldn't help but admire her determination. Use of the ring, it seemed, was one thing Regis hadn't prepared her for. Why should he have? That was meant to go to Noctis. None of this should ever have happened. Now the only other people to have ever used magic were gone and no one was left to teach her. Except—

"The Kingsglaive had training in His Majesty's magic—"

"I will not release them."

Only a few times in her life had Cor heard that tone from her. Usually it was when someone challenged her father. Now she applied that same immovable passion to her hatred of the Kingsglaive. It was the same, though, he realized. She opposed them because of the role they had played in the fall of Insomnia and the death of the king. It was all she had left. She couldn't protect him, anymore. She could only hate those who hadn't.

Like Cor.

If she could only let go of you, Regis, she would make an unparalleled queen.

Before he knew it, his resolutions of what to bring up and what not to bring up in conversation were draining from his head. The old argument leapt to mind, instead. "Your Highness, all of Eos stands to suffer. You cannot make this decision based on old politics. Those days are gone. We must all work for survival."

Logic only seemed to make her more angry.

"Politics? They killed my father. This is not politics. This is not populists and nationalists. This is not a debate about whether a canal should be dug through this place or that. This is his death!" That calm, queenly grace she wore like a cloak was dissolving. She stood with her hands clenched, her teeth bared, and a V on her brow. With each word her voice rose. It was a good thing they were standing on a secluded street corner.

"And now it is everyone else's life." Cor didn't raise his voice.

Reina glared at him. Her arms shook, like she wanted to hit him but was holding herself back. Then she shut her eyes and lowered her head. When she spoke again her voice was quieter, though no less angry.

"I don't care about anyone else's life." She sounded like she meant it.

She didn't look at him again. She turned on her heel and walked away, the same direction they had come from. Cor made a motion to catch her shoulder and stop her, but he thought better of it. With that look, he wasn't sure he wanted to stop her at all. How could she say something like that? How could she possibly sit at the top of Lucis and tell him that the only life that mattered to him was one that was already lost to them?

If it was true—he didn't even want to know—but if it was true, then maybe she was right. She shouldn't have been ruling Lucis.

Stupid, Cor cursed himself and ran his hands over his face, I should never try to talk to people.

How had this happened? He had brought her out there to talk to her, to apologize for how he pushed her, to explain why he did so. She was so closed off. He had meant just to stick his foot in the door and build the foundation of a friendship. Instead he had pushed her further away.

He picked up his feet and struck a path for the Leville. He never made it that far.

"Marshal!" Monica intercepted him along the way. "Accordo is on the radio. Daemons are flooding the city; they are broadcasting a request for help from anyone able to provide it."

Accordo? They were expecting Tenebrae to be overrun any week, now, but Accordo was in the middle of the damn ocean. How the hell had enough daemons to overrun an island even reached them?

"They want to speak with someone in charge, sir."

Cor glanced down the street, where Reina had disappeared.

Shit. They had one person; a princess on a throne she didn't want. And she had just told him the only thing she cared about was her own Gods damned mourning. How could he reasonably put before her any decision on which lives rested?

"Marshal?"

Cor ran his hands over his face again.

"Catch up with Her Highness." He motioned down the street. "Then meet me inside."

Give her one last chance to do what needed to be done and be Lucis' queen. And if she couldn't….

Well. Regis had tasked him with protecting Lucis' people.

* * *

Reina and Monica were the last to arrive. When they did, everyone else was clustered around a radio in the makeshift conference room.

"...no one left in Tenebrae to send help. Niflheim is overrun." The voice on the radio was male, but beyond that it was unremarkable; Reina couldn't say it was one she recognized.

"Lucis' resources are scarce." Cor held the receiver to his mouth as he responded. "There is no army left in the kingdom. We have our own trouble with the daemons. I cannot, in good conscience, send the bulk of our defenses to Altissia."

"Anything will help, man! If we can get people to the boats we might just stand a chance at survival. As it is, we're pinned down. There are too many of the damn things. Without Lucis' help, every last one of us will die here."

"I do not have the authority to make that call."

"Then put me in touch with someone who does, damn it all!"

Cor glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of her. Everyone else in the room turned, as well. Dustin and Monica, Prompto and Gladio, Iris and Cid. Only Ignis didn't move, but he was waiting for her, as well.

"What exactly is going on?" She asked.

"Daemons have overrun Altissia," Cor said. "They say the horde came like an army—organized—nothing like we have ever encountered before. They have even mentioned sightings of a… person among the daemons."

Daemons in Altissia? But they were cut off; how could so many of them have reached Accordo? Unless—

Unless the person among the daemons was real. Ardyn.

"They're calling for aid from anyone able to send it," Dustin said. "Reports are grim, Your Highness. Tens, if not hundreds of thousands of daemons. Even if we were able to reach them in time, there is no way to beat this foe."

"But we could still save them, right?" Iris asked, looking from one face to the next. "Even if we can't beat the daemons?"

No one responded. Not right away, at least.

"There will be heavy casualties, regardless of the path we choose," Dustin said. "On our side… or on Accordo's."

Again the room fell silent and Reina found everyone staring at her. Were they really asking her to make this decision? It was impossible. Neither choice was good; either they allowed Accordo's population to be annihilated by the daemons… or they sent their own people into the horde for hope that some could be saved. How was she supposed to make that call? She wasn't their queen. She wasn't her father or her brother. She was just a placeholder. A figurehead.

Then again, if she had really meant what she said to Cor, it shouldn't have been difficult to make the choice. What did their lives mean to her…?

...right?

Behind Cor, the voice on the radio flared to life again. "Marshal?! We need that relief! There are children here, damn it!" Behind his frantic words were the sounds metal on metal, gunfire, and distant screams.

Cor was still waiting for Reina. He stared at her while her brain stalled.

It was easier to say she didn't care about lives lost than to actually pull the trigger and let tens of thousands of people burn.

They were still people. They were still alive.

Father wasn't.

This was what he had faced, year after year, as he sat at the head of Lucis. He had tried to teach her and Noctis that ruling was about making the difficult decisions, that it was more than long meetings and fancy clothes, that, at the end of the day, those who made good leaders were the people who were willing to make the difficult decisions.

And not look back.

If they had been in Accordo's place, what would the First Secretary have done?

Camelia would have let them burn. She would have turned off her radio and kept her people behind her walls, safe. If Lucis turned its back on Accordo, the First Secretary would understand. She knew—the people always came first. Perhaps it was something Reina should have learned from her: her own preferences and beliefs mattered very little in the face of life and death.

Reina had hesitated too long. Cor lifted the receiver again.

"Commander." He turned his back on Reina. "We do not have the resources. We don't have the men. I'm sorry."

But Accordo was full of people, as well. Families. Mother and fathers, sisters and brothers—Weskham— people who deserved as much of a chance at life as those in Lucis did. How could she possibly condemn them all to death without even trying? It wasn't what her father would have wanted. It wasn't what Noctis would have wanted.

And perhaps she could do it without endangering her own people.

Maybe she wasn't their queen. But she was the best they had.

"This is not your kingdom, Marshal Leonis." She stepped forward and held out her hand for the radio. "It is mine."

The Gods had trusted the Caelums to safeguard the future of Eos. She might not have been her father or her brother, but they had trusted her to do what was right. She had no one left to hide behind. Either she was standing at the front of Lucis or she had failed them all. No one was going to protect these people if she didn't. And she couldn't do that if she didn't accept that what mattered were the people—not her.

Cor stared at her mutely for a moment, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he deposited the receiver in her outstretched hand.

"This is Princess Reina Lucis Caelum. Are you still there, Commander?"

"Not for much longer, Your Highness."

"Withdraw your people as far as you are able. Blockade the doors and hold out. Lucis is coming for you."

"Copy that, Princess. We'll be in the cathedral. Hope there's something of us left if you make it."

"There will be, Commander. If you die before I arrive, I swear to the Gods I will kill you in the afterlife."

The voice on the other end of the radio gave a hollow laugh. "I'll hold you to it."

In quick succession she had everyone in motion: Monica and Dustin to round up transportation for them; Cid to prepare the Gladin Ferry for the trip across the sea; Ignis, Gladio, Prompto and—much to Gladio's distress—Iris to gather their gear and prepare for the battle to come.

Cor lingered. "Reina, you are making a mistake. We do not have enough people. If you send them to Accordo you leave all of Lucis open to attack. And you charging into the horde is out of the question. I will not allow it."

Though a childish part of her wanted to glare at him, she just fixed him with an icy stare. Only seven months she had been in Lestallum with him and every day he reminded her of two things: she was failing as queen and he was in charge. She was tired of both of them.

"Bow to me, Marshal," Reina said.

Confusion flashed on his face. "What?"

"You heard me. On your knees, Marshal."

He dropped stiffly to one knee in front of her.

"That is your place. Remember it. From this point on you do not say a word to me that you would not have uttered to my father. Are we clear?"

"I—" He hesitated, then dropped his gaze. "Yes, Your Majesty."

She let the title go. It was the wrong one, but he wasn't being pert.

"I am not taking the Crownsguard," she said. The order made her teeth ache, but she spat it out, anyway: "Open the basement. If the damn Glaives are still alive, they begin their atonement today."

Cor stared at her, his usually stony expression now openly stunned. As if she needed another reminder of their previous conversation. She didn't acknowledge it; they both already knew that this meant her words from before were false. Did he really need her to say it explicitly?

"Go," Reina said.

He turned stiffly toward the door.

"And Cor—" When she spoke again, he paused "—From this point on you do not say a word to me that you would not have uttered to my father. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

* * *

Cor had almost preferred believing that she didn't care about any life save the one that was already lost to her. Whatever elation he had felt at hearing her declaration that she would use the Kingsglaive—in spite of what she had claimed not more than an hour ago—was erased by the realization that not only did she intend to go on her own…

But she meant to leave him behind, as well.

"Your Majesty—!" Cor pushed through the crowd that had formed in the square. He had to do something. He had to try. No matter how she hated him, he couldn't let her do this on her own. He couldn't let her ride off and leave him with the death of a third Caelum on his hands.

The cars that they had were too few to fit everyone comfortably, but Reina had pushed them to fill the gaps, anyway, until every truck bed was crammed full and all the Kingsglaives were aboard.

"Move out! Take point, Prompto!" Reina hauled herself up on the step bar of Gladio's truck and waved the first truck in the line forward forward. Prompto stuck his thumb out the window and hit the gas.

"Reina—" Cor shouted over the din "—This is too dangerous! If you are set on doing it, at least allow me to come, as well."

"No, Marshal. The kingdom is in your hands while I'm away. Take care of it." She held onto the outside of the truck, sparing Cor only a brief glanced before turning her eyes forward to watch Cid follow Prompto out of the city. "Let's go, Gladio."

He would have said the same words to Regis, but Regis wouldn't have left him behind. He always consented in the end…

…Except the last time.

Cor trotted to keep up with them. "Your Majesty—Please!"

Please don't leave me behind as your father did. As your grandfather did.

She didn't change her mind and she didn't spare him a second glance. They were gone.

* * *

"Heed me, Kingsglaive. You once swore your allegiance to my father. Then you proved that your bond meant nothing. I will not make the same mistake."

The Galdin Ferry swayed through dark waters as Reina stood before them. Some few dozen former Kingsglaives had come to Lestallum; every one of them was now aboard the ferry with her. If they had been hunters or Crownsguards, Reina would have expected to die in Altissia that day. But these were men and women trained in the crystal's magic; they were the remnants of the elite army that had held back the empire for years. She didn't plan to die, today.

"I bind you with blood and magic. His strength is my strength and my strength is your strength. You will fight for Lucis—for Eos—because if you do not, you will die. You may well die anyway." She paused, her eyes flicking from face to face, making it clear that she couldn't have cared less if they did. "But first you will have some small chance to give penance. Make no mistake; this—" she held up her hands, gesturing to the endless dark all around them "—this is your fault. You betrayed the King of Light and so darkness fell. Pray, pay your debts while you still have the chance."

They were silent. Some exchanged glances; others fixed their gaze on her. They would fight for her, whatever their reasons were. She would make certain of it.

Reina extended her hand, feeling the frayed strands that had once connected her father's magic to the Glaives. She wove them anew. She reached inside for the core of his magic and cast the bond to each Glaive, tying them to her. The Kingsglaive was no more—kingkillers forfeited that prestige—they were just glaives without honor or allegiance, now.

"The magic is yours once more. We ride into Altissia, where a force of daemons thousands of times larger than ours awaits. If you flee, if you once again turn your backs on Lucis, I will not even stoop to killing you myself. I will merely sever this bond once more. Remember: you magic is mine. Without it you are nothing." With it, they were treasonous bastards that she didn't trust as far as she could spit.

They were also her only option.


	10. Rescue

__

######  _23 August, 757:_

The whole city seemed to move. It writhed like a living thing, crowded from edge to edge with daemons.

No more twinkling lights lit the stone buildings. No more lively music played outside cafes. No more people walked the streets. No more gondolas drifted down the canals. The only thing moving in the city were daemons and the daemons were everywhere.

"Where to, Your Majesty?" Cid asked.

Reina bristled at the title, but kept her mouth shut. If they came out of this alive,  _then_ she could be picky about what she was called. For now she had more important worries.

"As close to the cathedral as you can get us." Reina stood at Cid's shoulder, looking out over the city. It smelled as if something had been on fire recently, but she didn't see any flames.

"The cathedral? That's on top of a damn waterfall." Cid glared at her.

"That's where the survivors are."

If they were still alive.

"This is a suicide mission, Your Majesty." Libertus appeared behind her.

It was, but he didn't get to object to suicide.

"Libertus, by rights your lives are already forfeit. The act of dying is merely a formality," Reina said.

If they weren't willing to risk their lives then she had no use for them. They could go back in the basement or they could die, now. It made no difference to her. At least if they fought the daemons they had some chance of survival—for a time.

Libertus made no further comments; he slunk back to join the others once more.

On the other side of the ferry, Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis sat with Iris. Ignis held his cane point down with hands folded over the top; he looked almost serene. Prompto fidgeted, but he always did that. Gladio's eyes kept darting toward Iris as he shifted in his seat.

Iris was sitting, motionless, and staring at her hands.

"Iris." Reina motioned to her.

Iris looked up, rising at the summons. They drifted far enough away that they could talk without interruption.

"I won't lie to you and tell you this will turn out well," Reina said. "This isn't your fight and you're not obligated to come with us."

Iris' eyes widened, then she shook her head vehemently. "It  _is_ my fight. The Amicitias have always stood by the Caelums when there's trouble. It's not going to change with me."

But of course. Just another daughter looking after her father from her brother's shadow. Why had Reina thought any different?

"You're right," Reina said. "We're practically sisters. Let's show these boys what we can do, shall we?"

Iris gaped at the word 'sisters'—but only for a moment before she smiled. It had been a long time since she had seen Iris smile for real. Back in another life.

"This is it, Your Majesty," Cid called over his shoulder. "As close as we're gonna get."

Above them loomed the cathedral, stone towers all capped in gold domes. It was difficult to appreciate the delicate architecture when it was crawling with daemons.

"How do we get up there?" Iris asked. She had to shout to be heard over the roar of the waterfalls.

"The king's magic," Reina said.

* * *

It was a sight like Iris had never expected to see in her life; three dozen Kingsglaives streaked across the sky in blue lines, just like Noct used to do. Iris stood on the ferry deck, entranced as she watched them.

Reina took the lead with Ignis at her side—she hadn't ever been able to warp, before, but she did it now. Prompto and Gladio followed, each catching a ride with a Glaive. Iris almost forgot she was supposed to go with them—so accustomed was she to being left behind—until one of the Kingsglaives approached her.

"You ready to go, kid?"

She had met him before, in Insomnia. What was his name? Libertus? He hadn't seemed like such a bad guy, back then, but Reina said all of them were traitors.

"I guess so," Iris said.

_I'll make you proud, Dad. You'll see._

He held out his hand and she took it. A moment later she wished she hadn't.

She had never felt anything so physically uncomfortable. The world was spinning, as if she had just been turning circles and stopped—only it was turning much faster, in every direction all at once, and Iris was tumbling about, heels over head. Until she wasn't.

The world lurched back into existence. Her stomach rolled. They had been standing on the deck of the ferry a second ago and now they weren't. She couldn't say where they  _were_ , though, because all she could see was stone flagons as she lost her breakfast all over them.

"Yeah." Libertus' voice floated through the haze. "That happens."

She spat on the pavement, trying to clear her mouth of the taste of bile. Her body briefly considered turning inside out, but didn't have the chance to try. A hand grabbed her arm and jerked her to one side.

"Look sharp, kid!"

Iris forced the world back into focus in time to watch Libertus cut down a daemon with a short, curved axe. More advanced to fill the hole; they were standing on a balcony outside the cathedral and every wall in the vicinity was crawling with daemons.

"You got a weapon?" Libertus threw lightning and it struck behind her.

"Y-yeah!"

"Now would be a good time to try it out."

"Right."

Just like in training. And outside Lestallum on guard duty. She could do this.

Iris drew her sword and gripped with both hands. She swung about, putting Libertus to her back and catching a daemon across the middle as it advanced. It sublimated into a cloud of black smoke, giving Iris just enough time to resettle her stance before the next took its place.

The blade did most of the work. She threw her weight behind it and it cut through daemon after daemon.

 _I could do this all day_.

Or at least until her arms gave out.

"You're not half bad, kid!" Libertus was watching her, having found a lull in the flow of daemons.

Iris ran another through, feeling her blade crunch through bone; it was the last one—for the moment. She stood with her blade down, catching her breath, and glanced over at him.

"We've got to find Rei," Iris said.

"Yup." Libertus tucked his axe into his belt and pointed to the pair of broken doors that led into the cathedral from the balcony. "Everyone's headed inside—we'll meet up in there."

"Right."

More daemons and the rest of the Kingsglaives were waiting for them inside. Iris caught glimpses of blue light through doorways, heard the crack of thunder and the clash of blades. She didn't have time to appreciate how effective they were—she was too focused on keeping her own head attached and not hitting Libertus.

Iris cut down another daemon and, through the black smoke, she caught sight of a shock of blond hair. Prompto was ahead. Wherever Prompto was, probably Gladdy was, and Gladio went wherever Reina was.

She shifted course. Daemons blocked her path, but they blocked  _every_ path. She could have swung her sword without aim and still hit them. She swung in a wide arc and cut off a head and half a wing. The daemons pressed in, but she pushed forward anyway, shoving with her shoulder and wedging herself into a better position. From there, she drove her blade up and out, catching another daemon through the middle before it's swiping talons could land.

The path ahead cleared just enough for Iris to reach the doorway and the hall beyond. It was a wide room, and long, with great arching ceilings. It reminded her a little of the Citadel, back home—except the tilework was colorful and the ceiling was painted.

Down the middle of the hall, she caught sight of Reina. She was back to back with Ignis; they moved like they were one person. Iris had thought it was impressive to watch Reina training with Cor but it was nothing to how she fought with Ignis. They kept in contact, most times. Either they had their backs pressed together, or their shoulders, or off hands clasped. Sometimes they split apart, but they always returned—like they were connected by elastic.

"Iris! Heads up!" Gladio swung his sword.

Iris ducked. She hadn't even noticed him approaching—let alone the daemons behind her. He cut them down, letting the weight of his sword do the work. Iris straightened, cursing herself. How was she supposed to be strong like Gladio if she was forever getting distracted? Yes, Reina and Ignis working together was beautiful and mesmerizing, but she couldn't afford to watch.

"Thanks, Gladdy!" She lifted her sword and refocused. He was going to be mad at her, but she would handle that later. For now the only response he gave was a grunt.

Together, they reached Reina's side, forming a circle with the others to keep daemons from their backs.

"Where is everyone?" Iris asked. Wasn't this supposed to be a rescue mission?

"They're probably all dead." It was one of the Kingsglaive who spoke—she didn't know his name, but he had a sharp face and a voice that matched.

In spite of the glares that some others shot him, no one else spoke. Iris swallowed hard and resettled her grip on her sword. Had they really just walked into the suicide trap for nothing?

The other Kingsglaives worked across the hall toward them. Blue light flashed here and there as they warped, keeping the area as clear as it could be.

"There's an inner chamber farther up," Reina said at length. "If any yet survive, they will be inside."

"Then let us make haste," Ignis said.

* * *

The cathedral was worse than Reina had imagined. She had expected it to be the epicenter—if the survivors were holed up inside, then the daemons may well have been drawn to them—but she hadn't expected to find the daemons so… organized. Was it her imagination, or were they tearing the building apart methodically?

They waded through waves of daemons. The Glaives were at her back and Ignis was at her side—feeling rather than seeing as he became a part of her. Even clustered as they were, they didn't reach the inner chamber without casualty.

Reina didn't count them, but she heard the screams. One was dragged away into the writhing shadows. Another clutched his stomach as blood poured between his fingers and from his mouth—too quick for healing magic.

 _They deserve to die_ , she told herself, but she couldn't get the screams from her mind, couldn't wipe away that wide-eyed look before his gaze went dark.

They pushed on, regardless, leaving the fallen where they lay. This was what her father had meant; she had made a decision and her people would die because of it. That was inevitable.

Eventually they came to a door that was still solid—though not by much. Daemons crowded around the outside, poking claws in holes and underneath, prying at the stone, swarming for any opening.

"Glaives—with me! Cut them down!" Reina swept her naginata in a figure-eight, cutting through beast and bone.

Beside her, Ignis brushed her shoulder as he lunged forward. Blue light arced around them. Lightning flashed, thunder cracked, fire blazed, and ice crashed. The Glaives moved in blue blurs: half human, half hologram. Shields sprang up, then dissolved in time to admit a blade.

" _Reina…"_

A voice whispered in her ear, so close she could feel breath on her skin. She twisted around, threat momentarily forgotten.

"Father?"

" _Use the magic, my dearest."_  His voice was at her ear no matter where she turned.

The Ring of the Lucii was still on her hand. She hadn't been using his magic as much as she could have—should have. It still felt unfamiliar to her. But she couldn't have ignored her father's voice if she wanted to.

"Reina!" Ignis called out to her; they had separated when she spun about, looking for her father. Now a dozen daemons stood between them.

She clenched her jaw. No time like the present. Lightning arced from her outstretched hand, jumping from one daemon to the next. It sent them flying, left them black and charred. What remained of the first row she cut down with a sweep of her naginata.

She blazed fire and it ate them from their clawed feet up. The smell of cooked, rancid meat filled her nose, and the heat turned her skin red. She pushed them aside, calling the fire back and advancing. Ignis was just ahead of her, a few more steps—

A tall daemon bore down on her from above, spindly legs like stilts as it wobbled toward her. She took a step back, but had little room to maneuver.

 _Use the magic_.

She thrust out her hand again, calling ice and dumping as much power as she could muster behind the spell. Her skin burned. The daemon froze solid.

"Ignis?"

They stood in a ring of sublimating daemons. Ignis held one dagger, but stood half doubled over, breathing heavily.

"No worse for the wear, Your Highness," Ignis said, though the pain in his voice contradicted his words.

"Reina! Can't hold this door forever!" Gladio's voice made her turn.

The Glaives held a perimeter around the door, with Gladio and Prompto standing just outside.

She glanced back at Ignis, reaching out to touch his shoulder. His sleeve was dark—his blood?—and red dripped down one side of his face.

"Do not concern yourself—we must not linger. Let us do what we came to do," he said, brushing aside her concern.

He was right, much as she hated to admit it. She couldn't tend to him in the middle of this—not with so much at stake. So she pushed on.

The doors were solid stone—it was little wonder they had held so long—and Reina pounded on the outside. "If anyone yet lives, open this door!"

A pause, then the sound of something shifting on the other side. Slowly, a gap appeared between the doors. A man's face peered out at them, dirty and streaked with blood.

"Princess Reina?"

"The same," Reina said.

The door opened further. "Thank the Gods! We hardly dared hope—!"

"We need to move quickly. You have boats in the docks below? Enough to carry your people?"

The commander nodded.

"Then let's move. Keep them clustered—Glaives! Form a passage!—any guard you have remaining moves on the outside."

They were running a gauntlet with hundreds of civilians. People were going to die. She just hoped that enough survived to make the sacrifice worth it.


	11. Hold Back the Dark

__

######  _23 August, 757:_

And die they did.

They fell by the dozen. Men and women, children and babies. The daemons swept in, hundreds upon hundreds, and the Glaive, even with their numbers bolstered by Accordo's army, were too few to prevent the inevitable massacre.

Even having known that escape without casualty was impossible, Reina hated it. For every child that was torn, screaming, from the arms of his parents into the horde of daemons she cut down ten. Her eyes burned, but her cheeks remained dry.

The boats were down a three-story flight of stairs. Screams echoed off the walls of the stairwell. The stench of burning flesh—daemon and human alike—caught in Reina's mouth and nose, choking her. Every step they took was paid for with sweat and blood.

Ignis wavered as they fought. Neither of them spoke a word, but his hand shook when she grasped it. He wouldn't last if they didn't reach the boats; it was just a matter of which would kill him first—the daemons or the bloodloss .

She would  _not_  let him fall here. She had failed her father, already; she didn't intend to make the same mistake a second time.

The stairwell dumped them at the docks. At the other end, three massive ships waited; now they only had to cut through the open while the air overhead swarmed with imps and the causeway crawled with pale-skinned, almost-humanoid daemons. They might have managed at the cost of more lives but, for some reason, the daemons didn't attack. Their ranks split down the middle, allowing Lucians and Altissians to pass—wary and suspicious, but unharmed.

At the end of the dock, standing on the deck of the foremost ship, was the true danger.

"Well, well, well…" Ardyn put one foot on the prow, resting his arm across his knee. "I thought you might be drawn out by my little ploy, but I admit—a part of me  _had_ hoped you were more shrewd than that. Your father was a fool, as well. I expect he would have done much the same." Ardyn considered the nails on his hand.

Reina clenched her jaw in a snarl. She didn't realize how firmly she was holding Ignis' hand until he squeezed her fingers in return. His grip was weaker than it ought to have been.

"But that goes with the territory, I suppose," Ardyn said, "The high and mighty Caelums—too good—too  _true—_ to allow the innocent to suffer and die."

She didn't respond. Did he think telling her she still had a heart was an insult?

He only laughed in that self-satisfied way. It could have oiled an engine.

With a single step he vaulted over the prow and landed on the dock before her. To her left Gladio shifted his hold on his sword and stepped forward—Iris followed, a beat after—and on Ignis' right Prompto leveled his gun.

Ardyn appeared not to notice. He swept his hat off his head and performed an overly elaborate bow. "Her Royal Highness. The  _Dreamer_. I thought there was something peculiar about you. Tell me, Your Highness—did you know we would meet here, today? Do you know what I'll do before I do it? What I say before I say it?"

Reina fought to keep her expression neutral. How could he possibly know about her Dreams? And what did he expect her to tell him? That she saw the future in unexpected bits and pieces, only when she was asleep and only when the Gods willed it? He called her 'the Dreamer,' like he knew more about her Dreams than she did. Maybe he did.

She decided not to answer at all; she wasn't going to play his games.

"What do you want with these people?" She asked.

"Those people?" He waved an unconcerned hand at the hundreds who crowded behind her, back-to-back and looking out. "Nothing at all. It's  _you_  I want, Your Highness. Doesn't that make you feel… important?"

"If it's me you want, then let them go," Reina said, "I'm right here."

"Ah, the princess in exchange for the common man." Ardyn replaced his hat on his head. "Granted! Send your sheep scampering on their way and face me: Caelum-a- _Caelum_."

Caelum to  _Caelum_?

"Ah, but of course. I never properly introduced myself. Allow me, then, to do so." Ardyn stepped forward, spreading his hands; the clown was gone and for a moment only the snake remained. "I am Ardyn  _Lucis Caelum_. Won't you give your dear uncle a hug? No? I'll tell you the story, some time. Oh—" He put on a look of mock disappointment "—I'm sorry to say you won't be around to hear it. This it a private affair—just me, myself, and your cold, dead body."

Reina wrung the hilt of her naginata, mind buzzing.  _Ardyn Lucis Caelum?_ No way that creep was related to them. It must have been just another lie. Except… he had used magic, in Zegnautus.

But she couldn't think about his name, now—if his price for their lives was hers, she would pay it.

She glanced over her shoulder; Accordo's commander was directly behind her and so—though she hadn't noticed until that moment—were the First Secretary and Weskham. Her eyes flicked between the three, settling on Weskham. He had been one of her father's best friends; if anyone, she trusted him.

"Get them aboard the boats and sail for Lucis. The Glaive will see you safely there." Or as safely as they could be seen.

Weskham hesitated. The First Secretary didn't. In a matter of seconds, her people were streaming onto the boats. Reina and Ardyn cut the flow down the middle, like rocks in a river.

"This is not a good idea," Gladio said.

He was going to like the next part even less. Past the Altissian boats, she could see Cid and the ferry from Galdin.

"Make sure Ignis gets back safe—see to his injuries." She fixed Gladio with an impassive gaze, daring him to argue with her. He struggled visibly against doing so.

"Wha—leave you here with this creep?" Prompto still had his gun aimed at Ardyn's face. "No way!"

"You will go because I say you will." She turned her eyes on Prompto. "I need someone I can trust to get Ignis out."

Prompto dropped his gaze and took a halting step back from Ardyn.

"I will not leave you, Your Highness." Ignis had his head downturned; his voice was tight with pain. "My place is at your side."

"Your place is at Noctis' side," she said. "Now  _go!_ I'll follow after." Somehow.

She stepped back, releasing Ignis' hand, though he tried to hold on. "Take him, Gladiolus."

Gladio moved forward, his steps halting and forced, but he put his hand on Ignis' back and ushered him toward the edge of the dock, where Cid and the ferry waited.

"Reina—" Iris looked down at her with overbright eyes.

"You go, too, Iris."

"But—"

"Go." She met Iris' gaze, interrupting with no space for further objections.

Iris turned away by parts, her body turning before her head until she finally tore her eyes away and followed after her brother. Gladio and Prompto both looked back at Reina as they boarded the ferry. In the moment of lapse, when Gladio's hand slipped from Ignis' back, Ignis turned back.

"Your Highness—do not do this!"

Gladio caught his arm and held him back before he could step off the boat again.

"Take him, Gladio!" Reina shouted. "Cid— _go!_ "

"Don't do this alone, Reina!" Ignis pulled against Gladio until Prompto grabbed his other arm. " _Please!_ "

Her eyes burned. Her nose stung. She turned so that she could only see the ferry pull away from the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Was this what Father had felt, when he pushed her away at the end?

She shut her aching eyes.

_Are you with me, Father?_

He didn't respond. No matter how she willed it, no matter how hard she wished to hear that whisper at her ear one more time, it didn't come. Perhaps she had never heard it in the first place. Perhaps she was going mad.

"How  _touching_." Ardyn made a show of dabbing his eyes on his sleeve. He straightened and the look of mocking sorrow vanished from his features, showing the dark emptiness underneath. "Now then. Where were we? Ah, yes. Me, killing you. I recall, now."

He lunged forward and a blade materialized in his hand. Just as it had in Gralea, his sword glowed briefly with a red fire—it was the same as her magic, as Noct's magic, and Father's magic. If she needed proof that his words were true, here it was. He  _was_ a Caelum. Somehow.

Months of training with Cor kicked in. Reina threw her naginata up and his sword struck the staff. He squared his feet and pushed against her, shoving her back, and forcing her to take several steps closer to the daemons that crowded the dock. They jeered as she approached—breaking the unnatural silence.

She just needed to buy some time...

After that it wouldn't matter. She could give him what he wanted; it was, after all, the same thing she wanted.

He struck again. This time he didn't push against her staff—he struck and turned and struck, giving her hardly enough time to move her naginata inbetween.

 _The best defense is a good offense. Put your back into it!_ Cor's voice seemed to shout at her.

Reina clenched her teeth and parried his blows, searching for an opening. She retreated another step, trying to give herself enough space to maneuver. No sooner had she moved than claws swiped at the backs of her legs, forcing her closer to Ardyn again. It was all she could to do keep her weapon between her and him. No amount of Cor yelling at her could remedy the fact that she needed  _space_ to use a naginata effectively and none of her training included a veritable army of daemons at the perimeter.

It also hadn't included an opponent who  _actually_ wanted her dead. However much he tried, Cor couldn't emulate that.

Ardyn laughed as she adjust her grip on her naginata, holding farther down the staff and keeping the blade toward him. He swept his sword across and under, catching the edge of her blade with his and pulling. She let go. Her naginata flew free, soaring in an arc over the heads of a hundred daemons and landing with a splash in the ocean. Then it vanished in a blue flash, back into un-being.

"Come, now, Princess. I didn't wait all this time just to experience your sub-par weapons training. You wear the ring.  _I want to see your power_."

She glanced at her hand. So that was it. He had let her go last time because he thought she would be more fun to kill once she was accustomed to the ring. Did he think she controlled all the strength of the Lucii?

Ardyn swung his sword overhead. She threw out her hand, pulling a barrier from her father's magic. The force of his blow reverberated through it—through  _her_ —but she held on. She held out her free hand and summoned her naginata back.

"Show me the power of the one-hundredth generation—show me the power held in store for the  _True King_." He pushed against her shield and Reina struggled to keep it in place. His eyes glowed with a red light—whatever it was that had happened to him, it hadn't severed his connection to the crystal. He had all of his magic and she had a few sparks of elemancy, borrowed from her father.

Her shield shattered. Reina stumbled, throwing up her naginata just in time to halt his blade from coming down on her collarbone.

"I don't have that power." Reina forced the words out around her protesting muscles and heaving lungs. If he knew she had nothing he would stop playing with her. It would all be over.

But if she died today, Ignis would be crushed. They would all blame themselves for leaving her behind when they could have stayed. And Noctis… she had promised she would be waiting for him when he returned. Then there was her father; he had trusted her to safeguard the kingdom in his place. In Noct's place.

She steeled herself and pushed up against Ardyn's sword. What little space that bought her she took advantage of, rolling away and putting a few feet between them. Ardyn followed. He wanted her magic? He could taste as much of it as she had.

She gathered a handful of lightning and threw it at him, deaf to the crack that split the air. But it didn't hit.

Ardyn lifted his hand to meet it, almost lazily; his magic formed a sphere of darkness—not a shield, but a hole that swallowed her magic.

"Is that what they've given you? Parlor tricks and elemancy? Two thousand years of distilled power and  _this_ is what it amounts to?" Ardyn tsked. He closed his hand and the dark sphere disappeared. "Where is your arcana?"

"I told you," Reina said, taking advantage of the pause to catch her breath, "I don't have it. I never have—it was always borrowed and wearing the ring doesn't change that."

For a moment, his eyes narrowed and a crease formed between his brows. "Do you mean to tell me... that they left you here, all alone, with  _me_ , and refuse even to grant you a sliver of the power contained in that ring?"

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down her spine. All the smiles and good humor were gone—even the disappointment from believing she was holding back had disappeared. In its place was something else… something she couldn't place—something quiet and utterly terrifying.

Behind him, Altissia was dark and silent; the lights from the boats had disappeared. If she could just get away…

Reina lunged. She kept her feet balanced and her naginata extended to keep him at bay, just like in training with Cor. But where her blow should have struck, it found nothing but air and an outline of Ardyn in red fire. He stood a foot to the left and adjusted his hat.

He could phase, as well.

She had no way out.

As if to prove her right, Ardyn pressed in. He moved faster than any human had any right to, faster than Cor, faster than Noctis. His skin glowed red with magic as he swept his sword up. Reina thrust her naginata in the path, sparing her skin but locking her weapon with his once more. He bore down on her, forcing her back toward the line of daemons and—when she refused to take another step back—to her knees.

 _Never let a battle turn to a contest of strength,_  Cor seemed to growl in her ear.  _You will always lose._

But it was much too late.

"You never had a chance…" He said it as if the words were for him, rather than her. He didn't sneer. He didn't taunt. He just forced her to the ground and crouched over her, pushing the staff of her own naginata against her throat.

"Two thousand years I have walked this earth, Princess—even before, I was older than you. More experienced than you. If you had met me two thousand years ago, you  _still_ would have had no chance and yet they send you against me without a modicum of help." His voice grew quieter as he drew closer.

The wood of her staff pressed against her windpipe, causing her breath to stick. A little more force and he would crush it. She couldn't consider what he was saying—two  _thousand_ years?—while her mind was screaming for air.

"The only power you are left with are your Dreams—and you don't even know how to use them, do you? Your Gods are cruel masters. See how quickly they turn on their own? Two thousand years your family has served them faithfully and it all comes down to this. They won't even intervene. They won't save your life."

He stopped pressing and just held her there as he looked up at the sky. "I could crush out your life and they wouldn't do a thing."

Reina struggled against him, trying to turn her head, trying to find enough space to breathe, but he didn't give her even that. Her staff pressed right against the underside of her jaw, leaving her with nowhere to move. She could breathe—just barely—but it was a struggle. The world wavered around the edges.

And then it didn't.

Ardyn stood, releasing the pressure. Reina thrust her weapon away and turned, to cough burning air through a constricted pipe. Her hands went to her throat: sore, bruised—certainly—but nothing broken. Nothing permanent. She sat up, choking on too-sharp air and trying to get her feet underneath her and her staff between her and Ardyn.

But he didn't move for her again.

He stood a few feet away, looking out across the darkened city.

"Tell me, Princess…" he said, "In all those years… did you never try to Dream on purpose?"

What the hell was he talking about?

"I can't do it on purpose. It comes on its own, and only when I'm asleep." Her voice came out hoarse and burned in her throat.

"Well  _of course_  it comes when you're asleep. That's why they call it Dreaming. But don't make the mistake of believing it's out of your control."

"What do you know of my Dreams?" She asked.

He only smiled.

She climbed to her feet, keeping her hands on her naginata and her eyes on Ardyn. He was just toying with her. He was a snake and to trust anything he said was to gamble blind against a master of bluffing. But if he knew answers to her myriad of questions…

Ardyn turned to look at her for the first time since stepping away. "Now run along, little Dreamer. And  _do_ learn how to Dream, won't you? These years will be ever so dull without you."

Reina stared at him. Around them, the daemons began to stir again.

"Oh—but did you think it would be easy?" He spread his hands as the dark mob closed in, wings twitching, claws clicking, teeth gnashing. Ardyn smiled unpleasantly and purple-black shadows showed around his eyes and mouth. "Have fun, little Dreamer.  _I_ will."

He dissolved, leaving her wondering if he hadn't been standing in front of her at all, before.


	12. A Long Time Coming

__

######  _23 August, 757:_

The daemons leapt.

Reina ducked and threw out her hand; a shield sprang up around her. On the outside, daemons scrambled for purchase, clawing and scratching as they squealed their annoyance; on the inside, Reina let out a breath, but beyond her pocket of safety a hundred more daemons pressed in. Every second she hesitated drew another.

She dropped the barrier and called lightning. The magic leapt from daemon to daemon, crackling and flashing. In the few seconds that bought her, she turned to the water's edge and threw her naginata toward the other side of the canal.

The world flashed, then lurched and spun around her; for an instant it was like being in five different places all at once and, at the same time, nowhere at all.

Reina  _hated_ warping.

She landed, feeling as if she had left her stomach and half of her head behind. When her eyes were back in her head once more, her vision swam. Even through the haze, she could see the daemons closing in. Time to move, again.

She called lightning once more, cutting through their numbers with blade and magic. As much as she was loath to admit it, she knew that travel by foot would never take her to the boats in time. Even magic might not be enough. She warped again, refusing to think about what happened if she  _didn't_ make it before they were out of range.

From rooftop to rooftop she leapt, each time resurfacing—struggling through the dizziness and nausea—to find herself surrounded by daemons. When she had cleared enough space to throw her naginata in, she warped again.

At long last she reached the edge of the city and, standing on the outer gates, she could just see the pinpricks of light on the boats' decks in the distance.

She couldn't possibly warp so far.

Reina stood, head spinning as she gulped down lungful after lungful of air, and felt her stomach sinking. How could she reach the others, if not by warping? She had no transportation of her own. Every ship in Altissia was out there, bearing the survivors to Lucis.

She couldn't possibly swim fast enough, either. Even if she had been resolved to swim to Lucis, she would have been overtaken by exhaustion before she even came close. It was  _hours_ to Galdin from Altissia, even by boat. But... if she could warp into the sea, perhaps she could tread water for long enough to warp again and again… until she reached them.

It was a shitty plan.

It was also the best plan she had.

Reina took one last breath and resettled her grip on her naginata. She shut her eyes, braced herself, and hurled her weapon with all the strength she had. In an instant of disorienting dizziness, she plunged into the freezing ocean.

Water closed in over her head, filling her mouth and nose. Salt burned her tender throat; ice forced the air from her lungs until she could hardly gasp. She kicked her numbing legs, clutching her naginata in one hand. Fighting for air, she resurfaced; the lights of the Galdin ferry shone dimly in the distance. She threw her naginata again.

By the next warp, she knew the dizziness wasn't  _just_ from jumping through space. If only her lungs would expand!

Numb fingers didn't throw well. Water didn't help much with grip. Her range decreased with every warp and with every further second she spent in that freezing water, but she threw her naginata again.

And again.

Gods, she hoped there were no aquatic daemons.

And again.

Would she even notice if something swimming in the black water took off one of her legs? She certainly couldn't feel them, anymore.

And again.

Were the lights even getting brighter? Was she making  _any_ progress?

And again.

"Look—out there! Did you see that?"

"What?"

"A blue flash—like someone warping."

Reina warped again.

"There it is, again—look!"

"There's someone out there."

She could just make out little figures standing on the deck of the boat ahead. One more good throw should about do it...

Her naginata struck solid metal and Reina came hurtling after it. She slammed into the side of the Galdin Ferry, clutching at her naginata with all the strength left in her body and scrambling for purchase with wet hands and shoes.

Strong hands reached down and gripped her arms. They hauled her up and onto the deck, though her naginata remained sticking out of the bow. Reina dropped to her knees and fought for her breath. She choked and coughed while her throat burned and her nose stung. It wasn't any warmer now that she was out of the water. In fact, it may have been colder.

A heavy jacket fell over her shoulders, wide enough to fit two of her. She wiped sea water from her eyes; when she could see again she looked up into Gladio's face.

"Hey. You alright?" He knelt before her, tilting his head to try and get a better look at her.

Reina coughed. "Never better." Her voice sounded like a donkey with bronchitis.

"Rei!" Iris' voice was shrill in comparison to her brother's.

"She's back! Iggy, she's back!"

"...Highness?" Ignis' voice was distant, disbelieving.

Reina hauled herself to her numb feet and only made it because Gladio was helping. She couldn't feel her hands, her throat burned with every breath, and she could hardly form words around the chattering of her teeth but she needed to see to Ignis.

Across the deck, past Iris rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, past Cid beaming at the helm, past Prompto jumping up and down, Ignis stood by the bulwark, holding his injured arm.

Reina detached herself from Gladio, still holding his dry coat around her shoulders, and crossed the deck to Ignis. Her wet shoes slipped on the smooth deck, forcing her to throw her hands out for balance more than once, but she didn't fall before she reached him. When she brushed her fingers over his hand, he gave a start.

From up close she could see the gash on his forehead that dyed his hair reddish brown and the claw marks that ran the length of his left arm in parallel, leaving his sleeve torn in shreds. Her fault.

"Ignis." She reached up to touch his cheek tentatively. Did he hate her, after all that?

He caught her hand, squeezing her fingers hard enough to hurt.

"Let me tend to your wounds," Reina said.

From behind her, Prompto interjected, "There's stuff downstairs—if you need to make potions—and there's this." He held out a box of first aid supplies.

Reina turned with a start. She had nearly forgotten that they were standing out in the open with the others. She had nearly forgotten she was numb and soaked and aching, too.

"Thank you, Prompto." She took the box from him and pulled Ignis toward the stairs.

The space below the deck contained what had once been a bar and lounge. The air was heavy with neglect and it smelled of dust, but at least it held a kitchen—of sorts—and ample places to sit. It was also the faintest bit warmer.

She steered Ignis to a couch and set about finding what she needed in the kitchen. She found a towel to dry off as much of her as she could manage, stripped out of her sodden coat and replaced it with Gladio's—which likely looked comical on her, but it was warm and that was all that mattered—pulled off slippery boots and soaked socks, and wrung out her dripping hair. The rest of her was going to need more than a hand towel—though she did briefly consider taking the rest of her clothes off to wring them out; it wasn't as if Ignis would see anything. She ultimately decided against it. His wounds were more important than her comfort.

When she returned with a wet rag to wipe away the blood, Ignis sat unmoving. Reina took his shaded glasses and set them aside. When she removed them, he turned his head down to hide his scars.

She caught his chin and turned his face up toward her. Even marred as it was with the scars, his face was beautiful, but she missed his eyes—that pale green that he had always hidden behind his glasses.

Blood from the jagged wound on his forehead had dripped down the side of his face and dried. Reina turned his head gently and set to work, washing it from his skin and hair, before she could be distracted any more. He flinched, eyes shut and brow furrowed.

"Sorry…"

"Do not trouble yourself, Your Highness."

How could he say that, after she had gotten distracted and put him in this position in the first place? When she had sent him away and faced death on her own, though he begged her not to?

She worked her magic into the antiseptic cream from the first aid kit and rubbed it into his skin until the cut on his forehead was reduced to a pale patch of freshly knit skin. Next she tore apart the remnants of his sleeve so she could heal the claw marks.

"Why do you still call me 'Highness'?" Reina asked.

Noctis had been telling him off for it since they could talk. For a few months it had seemed he called her 'Reina' more often than not… and then it had changed since Noct had disappeared.

Ignis didn't respond immediately. Reina pulled his glove off and cleaned dried blood from his wrist up, waiting.

"To remind myself." His voice was soft, practically a whisper.

To remind  _himself_? Not to remind her?

"For what purpose?" She reached his shoulder and set the rag aside—it was stained red—and picked up her salve.

He opened his mouth once or twice, but shut it again. She had healed down to his elbow before he found his words.

"So that I do not overstep my bounds again."

 _Again?_ She thought. When had he ever overstepped—

Oh.

The kiss.

She finished with his arm and pushed the first aid kit aside.

"Ignis…" She caught his face between her hands, searching his features. Her thumbs grazed his cheeks, passing over the scars that surrounded his left eye. "You never have."

Reina had never kissed anyone before. It seemed it was always someone else doing that to her when she least expected it. But there was a first time for everything.

His lips were soft. She hadn't gotten the chance to appreciate it, before—everything had been hurried and desperate, one silent confession amidst all the death and destruction when he believed they would never be together again. Today, for a moment, they had both believed the same. She never wanted to again.

Ignis made a sound of surprise but, after a moment, he leaned forward; he kissed her back. His fingers brushed her cheek but didn't settle. He searched her face without eyes to see, tracing her jawline, feeling her cheekbones, combing through her wet, tangled hair. When they broke apart it was only because they were out of breath.

"Highness—"

She covered his lips with her finger. "Reina."

" _Reina_."

She smiled against his lips. "Doesn't that sound better?"

He didn't respond except to kiss her again.

She might have stayed on that couch with him indefinitely, having long since forgotten where they were and where they were going.

But the ship had to reach Lucis, eventually.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Reina didn't immediately register what that meant and, judging by Ignis' lack of response, he didn't either.

Not until Gladio's voice shattered the quiet.

"Reina? We're—"

Reina's stomach dropped. They leapt apart as if burned, wandering hands returning to their owners. She looked up in time to catch the shocked expression on Gladio's face before it melted into something darker and more angry.

"... pulling into Galdin." He folded his arms over his chest. "Sorry to interrupt."

Beside her, Ignis dropped his chin to his chest.

"Thank you, Gladio." She enunciated each word carefully. "We will be up shortly."

In spite of the clear dismissal he lingered on for a few seconds before giving an unconcerned shrug and turning around. When he was gone, she looked back at Ignis.

"Have you any regrets?" He asked, not lifting his head.

She brushed his cheek. "None at all."

At last he looked up at her, unseeing eye staring past her rather than at her, hopeful.

"There are things I must do—but don't forget this." She leaned forward to give him one last kiss before drawing back. "Come on. It's time to face the music."

Cor was going to be furious.


	13. Tension

__

######  _23-24 August, 757:_

It was a four hour drive from Lestallum to Galdin and another three hours by boat from there to Altissia. That made for a fourteen hour round trip, total, not accounting for the time that would necessarily be spent  _in_ Altissia. And Cor couldn't even begin to estimate how long it would take to escort all of Accordo's survivors to their boats and see them safely out of the city.

The point was, it was a  _minimum_ of ten hours after their departure from Lestallum before he was permitted to worry about what had become of them, because, if nothing else, Galdin would radio in when the boats arrived.

 _If_  the boats arrived.

He made it the first six hours before he started pacing the com room, waiting for the radio report.

Cor didn't sleep. No one did. Dustin and Monica sat up with him as what should have been afternoon wore on into night. There was radio contact with Cid when they departed from Galdin and again when they reached Altissia.

Then it was silent.

The night wore on. Seven hours, eight hours, nine hours since they had departed. Cor hadn't sat down in at least that long. Anything could have been happening out there. Reina could have been dead. They  _all_ could have been dead.

He would never forgive himself.

If only he had been less harsh with her. If only he had told her what he felt. If only he had found the right words for what he  _meant_. If only he hadn't pushed her so hard. If only he had been there for her, when no one else was.

Then, maybe, she wouldn't have been so reckless.

His regrets earned him nothing, but they haunted him all night.

Eleven hours since they had left. Twelve. Thirteen.  _Fourteen._

The radio crackled to life.

" _Marshal? We got boats coming into Galdin."_

Cor's heart stopped beating. For a moment he forgot how to move. When the paralysis wore off, he scrambled for the receiver.  _Boats?_ Multiple boats?

"How many?"

" _At least three of 'em. Maybe four."_

It would have helped if he had known how many to expect. All he could do was hold out, hardly breathing, and wait for the next report. He sank into a chair beside the radio, resting his elbows on his knees and sagging forward with the receiver still in his hand. He didn't allow himself to hope. It was less difficult than it should have been; his mind was numb, empty of anything at all.

" _They're from Accordo alright, Marshal. Hundreds of 'em. The First Secretary and all."_

Through the fog, he felt distantly surprised. The First Secretary of Accordo? But—

"The queen?"

" _No sign of 'em, Marshal. There's Kingsglaive with the Altissian boats, but none of the others."_

Cor's head hung forward. The receiver dropped from his slack fingers.

He had done it again. He had gotten another Caelum killed when he could have prevented it.  _Should_ have prevented it.

If only…

_If only…_

" _There's someone here asking to speak with you, Marshal."_

Cor didn't move for the receiver.

" _Cor? Are you there, brother?"_

His eyes flicked open. That was a voice he remembered, though he hadn't heard it in nearly twenty years. He stooped for the receiver.

"Weskham?"

" _Damn, it's good to hear your voice again."_

"Weskham—what happened to Reina?"

A pause.

" _She stayed behind."_

"What do you mean she  _stayed behind_?"

" _I mean she made a deal with the devil and stayed behind with that crooked bastard so everyone else could get out."_

Cor tried to make his brain process the words. What he was hearing was that Reina had sacrificed herself for their safety, but he didn't want to believe it.

" _Can't say for certain what happened to the others. If they stayed with her, it's just possible…"_  Weskham didn't finish voicing the optimism, and Cor was thankful for it. He didn't think he could stand to hear hollow hopes, now.

"I'll see what can be done about getting everyone somewhere safe—we're spread thin as it is."

" _Of course. Everyone's willing to do what needs to be done to help—we're just grateful to be alive."_

Cor ran one hand over his face. How the hell was he supposed to find provisions and shelter for hundreds of refugees from Accordo when they were struggling to protect their own people? He was a soldier, not a bureaucrat.

" _And Cor… thanks for sending help."_

"I didn't," said Cor, "The person you should be thanking was left in Altissia."

And if he hadn't let her go...

He dropped the receiver on the table and walked away. How the  _hell_ had they let her do that? How had Weskham looked her in the eye—Regis' own daughter—and left her there to die? If Gladio and the others returned empty handed, as well, Cor was going to kill them himself.

He was halfway down the hall without a destination in mind before he was called back.

"Marshal!" Monica stuck her head out of the doorway. "They say they've spotted another boat!"

* * *

It was nearly light again by the time the cars rolled back into Lestallum, the sky just paling with what passed for dawn these days. Cor stood on the wall and called for the gate to be opened. He had been running words and conversations through his head for four hours. Somehow, he was going to fuck it up, anyway.

The trucks weren't packed full of Kingsglaives, anymore. A few hung off the outside of each car, but the truck beds held refugees from Accordo—most of them were children.

And there was Reina, standing on the hood of one parked car, calling orders. Cor stopped as soon as his feet were on the ground, fighting a stupid impulse to run up and crush her against his chest. She was safe. It was alright. She was safe.

_I will never let her out of my sight again, Regis, I swear it._

But.

Was that blood on her hands? What was that red mark across the underside of her chin? Why was she wearing a jacket four sizes too big and no shoes at all?

She didn't even notice him standing there, while she directed the flow of people—was her voice more hoarse than usual?—and in quick succession the refugees were sorted, the Kingsglaive were given food and shelter to set them equal with the remaining Crownsguard, and Reina's companions were sent back to the hotel to catch what rest they could. Only Ignis remained by her side, refusing to leave. She held a rapid conference with Cid and Weskham—who had accompanied them—then with Monica and Dustin, then Libertus, and finally with the leader of Lestallum's refugees. She had been active for twenty-four hours and she was still working—because she still had work to do.

She really was just like Regis.

It had always been Clarus—or, later, Reina—who pulled Regis away from his work and locked him in his room. Who did she have to tell her when to stop?

Ignis stood by her side, tight-lipped and silent. One of his sleeves was hanging in shreds and pale pink lines traced the length of his arm. Blood colored his hair, but he had no wound to show, save another patch of freshly-healed skin on his forehead. He needed a break as much as she did.

Reina turned from the leader of the refugees and cast her eyes cast her eyes over the city, as if trying to decide what else needed to be done. Her gaze settled on him.

Every single word he had lined up deserted him. His mouth went dry. It was so easy to forget that she hated him when she was across the continent, or when he was still reveling in her return. Now, with those eyes turned on him, it was impossible to forget.

He did the only thing he could think to: he bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that, Cor." Her voice was just as sharp—just as cold—as it had been when she left seventeen hours before. "While my brother draws breath, on Eos or otherwise, he is still king."

"As you say, Your… Highness."

"We need to take a more aggressive approach toward securing resources. If we can get electricity to the rest of Lucis then we can find housing elsewhere for the Altissians. Maybe Duscae—prioritize that. Have the Crownsguard and hunters focus their attentions, starting right now."

"Of course." Cor bowed again.

She turned away without another word and Cor remained frozen right where she had left him. It was the wrong time to tell her the truth. Every time was the wrong time. She hated him and it was already too late to change that. The best he could do was serve as her commander and give her the respect she deserved.

A hand grasped his shoulder. Cor turned to look into a familiar face—twenty years older, perhaps, but familiar nonetheless.

Weskham didn't look at Cor; he was watching Reina as she walked away. "She's just like him, isn't she?"

Cor nodded mutely. She was proud and stubborn; she was dedicated to her duty; she was powerful and dignified.

"But she doesn't have his friends," Weskham said.

"I've tried."

Weskham raised his eyebrows. "You astound me."

Cor scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging Weskham's hand off his shoulder. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Merely that you trying to form friendships must be akin to wyvern trying a vegetarian diet." Wes slapped his back.

Cor's scowl deepened. He looked back at Reina, who had stopped, along with Ignis, to speak with some of Lestallum's refugees.

"She hates me."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes," Cor said.

"And you plan to just let it lie?"

Cor glanced at him, brow furrowed. What did he expect? Some magic solution? Maybe Weskham could have put the pieces back together; maybe he could come out of the woodwork after twenty years and strike up a friendship with Regis' daughter, but this wasn't Cor's forte.

"Yes."

Weskham looked back toward Reina, past Cor. "You've gone soft in your old age."

Cor dug his fingers into his arms and clenched his jaw. Twenty years and Weskham still made him feel like a child, somehow. Clarus had done that, too.

Weskham grasped his shoulder again. "You can  _fix this_ , if you want." He leaned forward to speak in Cor's ear. "But you have to go after her."

He released Cor's shoulder and stepped back, without offering any further wisdom. With a sigh, Cor turned toward Reina. She had moved on from the refugees and was climbing the steps to the Leville. He took one halting step, then another and another, breaking into a jog to reach her before she disappeared.

"Your Highness." He caught up with her in the lobby.

She turned and looked at him, waiting, while words caught in his throat.

What was he supposed to say? Wes couldn't have given him  _some_ sort of advice before throwing him to the wolves?

"I… am glad you are safe."

It was confusion, rather than surprise, that showed on her face.

He ducked his head in a bow. His face was burning; another moment of silence and he would well and truly regret taking Weskham's advice.

"Thank you, Marshal." Her voice was tinged with surprise, but it didn't sound so sharp as before.

Why did she still call him Marshal? Was it just because he had told her not to?

He couldn't think of any other words to say, though there had been a hundred in his head as he watched her car pull through the gate. Something about her made all of them dissolve on the spot. He didn't ask her not to call him Marshal. If he said anything else, he would probably fuck it up, so he just stared at his shoes.

When he failed to speak, she did so. "I'll see you tomorrow for training, Marshal; I don't think I will be up to it, today."

"Of course, Your M—Highness. I'll leave you to your rest." He turned, hazarding a brief glance up at her in time to catch the bemusement on her face. Then he fled, leaving her to puzzle out what had just happened on her own.

 _Well,_ he thought.  _It could have gone worse._


	14. Circle

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######  _25 August, 757:_

For a brief, shining moment, Reina believed Cor had finally decided to stop pestering her at every available moment. The strangest part about it was that he almost sounded sincere when he claimed to be pleased she was back. He hadn't made any objection to her skipping out on training. Indeed, the following morning he let her sleep in as well—not that it mattered, in practice. She still only slept a few hours.

And yet, when she came downstairs to get breakfast and found him in the kitchen doing the same, he looked her over with that same critical expression she was so used to seeing on his face.

He reached out and grabbed her chin roughly, tilting it to one side and looking at her neck with careless disregard for how uncomfortable that might be. "What happened to your neck?"

"Nothing." Reina jerked back with a wordless sound of annoyance. So much for all the 'Your Majesty's and treating her like her father. One night and she was back to being a little girl, again.

"'Nothing' doesn't leave a bruise.  _What happened to your neck?_ "

She was beginning to regret wanting breakfast at all. "In case you've forgotten, I was in Altissia yesterday. A great many things happened, and if you would allow me to have breakfast, I could explain them to everyone all at once. Unless you feel entitled to a private recounting."

He struggled visibly, lips pressed in a thin line. Finally he gave up. He gave a curt bow and hurried out of the room without another word.

At least she could eat, now.

Only a few people in Lestallum were really entitled to an account of what had happened in Altissia, but she intended to give it only once. By the time she had eaten and was feeling a little less antagonistic toward Cor, she followed the main hallway deeper into the Leville and joined the others in what had once been office space and was now a makeshift meeting room. The only furniture in the room was a pair of long tables pressed end-to-end and a mismatch of chairs. Most of them were occupied: Cor, Cid, Weskham, Ignis, Prompto, and Iris were all assembled already—though Gladio stood by the door, like he didn't want to appear too comfortable.

Reina took her place between Ignis and Iris, where there was space. Unfortunately, it meant she was across from Cor. She could think of worse things to look at through the duration, but the list wasn't long.

"I believe most, if not all of you, have heard all but my encounter with Ardyn," Reina said. Nods across the table confirmed. "Very well."

She sat back in her chair, arms and legs crossed, and began—from Ardyn's revelation that his name was Lucis Caelum (though what, precisely, that meant was still up to interpretation) to his hints about her Dreams to her eventual release and escape. No one interrupted, though she watched startled disbelief at the claim that Ardyn belonged to the royal family—perhaps hundreds of years back, if he was immortal as the Draconian had said.

But, of all that, the first thing Cor commented was:

"...And he let you go?"

"He seemed to believe I would provide him with more entertainment this way."

"He's sick," said Prompto, more subdued than Reina had ever seen him.

"He suggested I might be able to control my Dreams—to see the future intentionally—and that this would make me a more formidable foe," Reina said.

"Are we honestly considering believing him?" Cor leaned forward to look at down the table. "He's proven himself nothing but manipulative."

"He  _has_ given aid in the past," Reina said. "Albeit for his own purposes. I have no reason to believe he is lying about this—how would it benefit him to make me believe I could control them?"

"To make you as crazy as he is," said Cor. "Some of us have witnessed what happens when you have those Dreams. Can you honestly say you could do that every night?"

"If I could  _control_ it, that wouldn't happen."

"You cannot know that. Not for certain," Cor said.

"Your Highness, if I might interject." Somehow Weskham inserted himself into the middle of the brewing argument without interrupting anyone. "Given what you know of this man, do you find his self-described motivations believable?"

"I do."

"Then that, I believe, is all that matters." Weskham glanced at Cor, as if in warning. "The magic is yours, of course. As is the choice. But Cor's concern is not unwarranted; any magic used without caution has potential for disaster. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say: take care; this road may very well be dangerous."

He almost made it sound as if Cor was just worried for her, rather than being an argumentative pessimist who wanted his own way or none at all.

"I will, of course, exercise caution. But we cannot very well ignore this suggestion; if it is possible for me to see the future at will, how could I not try?"

For the moment, Cor was silent, offering no further objections. For a moment, in the way that his gaze flicked down and avoided hers, she thought she  _did_ see the concern that Weskham spoke of. Then it was gone.

At least it was one thing settled. She would learn to control her Dreams. She  _had_ to.

"You said he expected you to have more magic—or different magic," Weskham said. "What did he mean?"

Yes, that was probably a conversation they should have had, before now. Her fault, but...

Reina looked down at the ring on her hand. Had she really heard her father's voice, yesterday? Or had that all been her imagination?

After a moment, she said: "I don't control the ring's arcana."

Cor's brow furrowed. Weskham crossed his arms and leveled his puzzled gaze across the table at her. The others looked confused—save Ignis, who had already known.

"What's the… arcana?" Prompto asked.

"Every Caelum has two bonds not gifted to other mortals," Reina said, "A bond to the Astrals, which grants us elemental magic—the ability to throw flame or conjure lightning—and a bond to the Heart of Eos—the crystal. The crystal grants us the ability to alter reality—these are the magics called arcana. When we create a shield, when you reach outside of the physical realm to draw your weapon, when I bend space to appear elsewhere, it is by drawing upon the crystal.

"The Ring of the Lucii, then, is many things. It is the anchor that binds the souls of the old kings to Lucis, as most people know, but it is also the well into which the crystal sinks its power. This process is ongoing—as far as I know, the ring has been growing in power since it was first granted to the Founder King and once the process is complete, Noctis will use it to banish the darkness once and for all. But until that time, it serves as a concentrated source of that same power that Caelums draw from the crystal—the arcana.

"A person, of royal blood or otherwise, who is granted the ring's arcana can perform astounding feats of magic. Historical accounts of these seem to suggest that the abilities of the ring-wearer have grown over the centuries, as well. And so now, only scant years from the moment when the ring will have reached its maximum power, the arcana granted to the ring-wearer ought to be without precedent…

"But I do not have this power. To claim it, one must stand before the Lucii and be proven worthy. I was not. My connection to the crystal is little more than that which the Glaives utilize. A link drawn through the king and granted from beyond death."

A frozen moment passed. Then another, as if everyone had forgotten how to speak. Or else they weren't certain what to ask without insulting her.

No one asked why she hadn't been granted the power. It was just as well. She couldn't have answered.

" _You never had a chance…"_  Ardyn's voice seemed to whisper. " _They won't even intervene. They won't save your life."_

The Gods granted her no magic and no aid in her hour of need. What did that mean about the path she was walking? What did that mean about  _her_?

Ignis cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence and changing the subject. "This claim of Ardyn's name: do you know any more?"

"Nothing. He said he was my uncle, but it must have been generations ago—we have no idea how old he is," Reina said. Though it did explain something about the magic he used. Still, even that was a puzzle; many of the things he did  _weren't_ Caelum magic, not really. His power was black like ink—almost… daemonic.

"I thought the royal line was mapped back to the Founder King," Gladio said.

"It is. But if Ardyn—whatever or whoever he really is—was infamous enough to earn the title 'Accursed' from the Gods, I would not be surprised to learn he had been stricken from the family tree."

"All the more reason to question his motivations," Cor said.

A pensive silence fell as each of them glanced at the others. Perhaps they were all thinking much the same as Reina: if Ardyn was both her ancestor  _and_ the root of darkness on Eos… how much more history were they missing?

Eventually, Cor broke the silence with another change of topic. "What of the Kingsglaive, Your Highness?"

They had lost half a dozen in Accordo, but it still left them with a sizable number; Libertus suggested there were others, still, who had not yet come to Lestallum. They made her skin crawl, the whole lot of them, but they were a blade in the middle of a war.

The dagger that had stabbed her father in the back.

Nevertheless, she couldn't very well leave them locked up—whatever she had told Cor in the heat of the moment.

"They stay, with full provisions." The words hurt her teeth to say. "If others come to fight, they can have the same. I want you to take charge of them, Cor."

"As you wish, Your Highness," Cor said. "I would see them put to work on the power problem, if it pleases you."

He was suddenly being very careful with his words. If it  _pleased_ her? That didn't sound like what she had come to expect from Cor, but she took it anyway.

"It does."

Perhaps, with the Glaive, they would make faster progress. However much Reina hated it, she had to admit they were useful.

On her left, Iris fidgeted in her chair, drawing Reina's attention. And her thoughts.

Iris had remained at Reina's side, or as close as possible throughout Altissia. She followed orders well, she fought well, and, most importantly, Reina  _liked_ her.

What was it Cid had told her, the same week she arrived in Lestallum and was thrown into this whirlwind life at the head of Lucis? That she needed friends— real friends—who would stand beside her when the world went dark?

That had stuck in her head, because it sounded so much like Father—always talking about how much more he had accomplished because of his friends. His brothers. Now Reina had Ignis… but she could do with a sister, as well.

"There is one more thing." Reina looked away from Iris and cast her gaze across the table. "I would have Iris sworn in as my Shield."

The reaction was about what she had expected. Cor raised his eyebrows, looking from Reina to Iris and back. Cid glanced at Iris, appraising, but not disapproving. Ignis remained unmoving, as if he had known she would say it. Iris' jaw dropped and she stared wide-eyed at Reina—but she wouldn't object. She wanted this. She  _needed_ this: to show them, to prove she could be just as good, to feel like she was someone that Clarus could look in on from the Beyond and smile and say, 'That's my daughter.'

By the door, Gladio stood up straight. " _What?_ "

"I have no Shield," Reina said, glancing from face to face, "And though I am no queen, I will hold this kingdom for my brother until his return. I believe it will suit everyone if I  _do_ take a Shield."

"You've got  _me_ ," Gladio growled.

"You are Noctis' Shield." She turned in her chair to look over her shoulder at him.

Gladio stood forward with his hands clenched like he was prepared to fight his own little sister for the position of Reina's Shield."What difference does it make?"

"I have made my decision, Gladiolus." Reina fixed him with a level gaze. "It is not your place to question."

He glared at her for a moment and then, with a sound of frustration, wrenched the door open and stormed out, slamming it behind him.

_I'm sorry, Noct, Gladio...But I must build my own circle._

Reina stared at the shut door for a moment before she turned back to the table.

_I need to know they're loyal to me and not just to the king's sister._


	15. The Queen's Shield

__

######  _25 August, 757:_

They adjourned not long after Gladio stormed out. Reina had dropped enough bombshells to keep everyone scratching their heads for a month, but Iris was stuck on the look Gladio had given them. Her. She went after him as soon as she had the chance, but it took a few minutes to find him—outside the Leville, leaning against one of the supports and staring down the street without really seeing.

"Gladdy?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then back. "Hey."

She inched up a few steps so she stood level with him. "Are you mad at me?"

"Nah." He didn't elaborate. At least not at first. But, eventually, "Don't think she shoulda done it, though. Shouldn't be forcing a sixteen year old into that."

He was mad.

"She didn't force it—I wanted this!"

"Yeah? Sure didn't look like it."

"I was just surprised. She didn't tell me, before, she just chose it—and you were way younger than me when you became Noct's Shield."

"I wasn't Noct's Shield in the middle of the fucking apocalypse at sixteen."

Much as she would have liked to call him out on the hyperbole… it fit.

Iris crossed her arms over her chest. "So what? So you wouldn't have done it if the world was falling apart at the same time?"

"Of course I would have." He finally turned to look at her, brow furrowed.

"And no one would have stopped you—Dad would have said it was fine—so what's the problem?"

"That's completely different. Dad always meant for me to be Shield. And you—look, Iris, I'm three times your size and I had twice your training when I was your age."

So. That was it. She wasn't big enough. She wasn't strong enough. She wasn't good enough. And Dad had  _never_ meant for her to be Shield. It hurt how true it was.

She couldn't think of anything to do but turn and flee, eyes burning, so he wouldn't see how much his words bothered her.

"Iris—! Wait!"

"Just leave me alone, Gladio!" She turned in the lobby to shout back at him, hands clenched at her sides. "You always say the wrong thing!"

She turned tail and ran, not waiting to hear the response. She stumbled, vision blurry, and caught her shoulder on the corner going around, but she didn't stop. The stairs went all the way up to the rooftop. No one else was ever up there.

The cool air hit her face as she threw open the door. It was still dark outside, but it usually was, these days. She stopped, breath ragged more from the adrenaline than from her short flight up the stairs, and doubled over to clutch her knees as she watched the tears hit the rooftop.

The Amicitias were a family that dated back nearly as far as the Caelums. Technically, the title of Shield wasn't hereditary; nothing written anywhere said that the King's Shield had to be an Amicitia, but that was where they  _tended_ to come from. For generations it had been tradition. Young Amicitias trained in martial arts from the age they could walk and never stopped working toward improvement.

Everyone had always known that Gladio would be the next Shield.

But now everyone was wrong.

Iris straightened and swiped at her cheeks to dry her tears. She took a seat on the edge of the Leville so her legs hung over and looked out at the meteor.

What would her dad have said, if he had still been alive?

Tears welled again at the thought. Insomnia had been gone for over a year, already; she still had nightmares about the treaty signing. For one brief, shining moment, peace had been within reach. She had watched on TV as the king and the emperor approached the treaty—Dad, standing in the background, had been at the king's side. But something was wrong. Something had never quite fit. The look on the king's face wasn't the look of a man who had secured peace after a centuries-long war.

It was the look of a man approaching the gallows.

And then the city center had exploded. The last glimpse she had of her dad was on the TV, drawing his weapon to take his rightful place at the king's side. To protect him until death.

Iris rubbed her cheeks dry. Would he have thought the same as Gladio? That she was too little, too young, to be any good for Reina?

She shut her eyes and saw his face.

" _The Amicitia family has but one duty: to safeguard and support the Caelums."_ It was one of the last things he had ever said to them, but he said it to  _them_ —her and Gladio both. Maybe she was the youngest, maybe she was the weakest, but she was still an Amicitia and it was her job to support Reina.

"There you are."

Iris turned, gripping the edge of the roof to keep her balance. She hadn't even heard the door open, but Cor was standing on the roof with her.

"Cor!" Her eyes widened. She still felt like she should have called him 'Marshal', but he had already told her off for that too many times. "Did you—did you hear all that?"

He didn't need to answer. The look on his face said yes.

She turned back around, facing the meteor, and kicked her feet. She was supposed to be the Queen's Shield and she couldn't even face an argument with her brother. Cor's shoes crunched on the rooftop, coming to a stop beside her.

"Sometimes walking away is the best choice."

Iris looked up at him. He was watching her critically; he always made her feel self-conscious, but not necessarily in a bad way.

"I just can't help but wonder if he's right… Gladio's stronger than me and older—he could do a better job."

"It takes more than a sword and a strong arm to make a Shield. I thought your father would have taught you that."

Iris blinked, wide-eyed. He didn't sound reproachful or disappointed—just like he wanted to remind her of something.

"Dad said it's our duty to stand with the royal family," Iris said.

"And what does that mean to you?"

Iris dropped her gaze, thinking. To safeguard  _and support_  the king—or queen—meant more than just protecting the Caelums.

"It means… standing by them no matter what. Believing in them. Trusting them. In the dark and light, when things get dangerous, and even if we don't agree with them."

She didn't see the rare smile that flickered across Cor's face because she was looking at the meteor, but she did notice when he sat down next to her.

"A Shield is more than a bodyguard. A Shield is a confidant, a supporter, a friend, an adviser. A Shield is someone the king—or queen—can trust no matter what. And yes, it means you have to be willing to give your life for the crown—and you have to have the strength to stand behind those words—but that's not the most important part of being a Shield. Any fool can be a bodyguard—like me—but it takes a rare man, like your father, to be a King's Shield."

Those were things she could do, surely. Maybe she couldn't compete with Gladio where shear strength and skill were concerned, but she could be present and trustworthy and  _trusting_.

"Reina didn't choose you because she needs a thug to stand between her and the daemons. She chose you because she can trust you. And if  _you_ trust  _her_ , you know she's made the right choice."

"I do trust her…"

Every choice Reina made was for a reason—a good reason. She always thought things through; she knew where problems started and finished, she had  _vision_  and she had foresight—not just those Dreams that told her the future, sometimes, but a real gift for seeing how everything would turn out.

Beside her, Cor shifted. "I was coming to bring this to you, before..."

He unhooked the katana from his belt and passed it to her. Iris, feeling numb, accepted it.

"For me?"

"One of the traders from Meldacio picked it up. I had Cid do some work on it; I think it should serve you well."

Iris closed her fingers around the hilt and drew the sword a few inches from the scabbard. The blade was red and black in parts, seeming to change color in the fading light as she turned it. The tell-tale wave in the metal spoke of hundreds of layers folded over and pounded thin to strengthen the sword.

"Whoa…" Iris breathed.

"Don't doubt yourself so much," Cor said. "Your father would be proud—wherever he is."

She looked up at him, blinking back tears.

"Thank you, Cor."


	16. Doubt

__

######  _25 August, 757:_

Someday, he would wear a line in the wall where his fingers grazed the paneling.

The familiar old doubts ate at him as he wandered without her: could he ever truly be useful to her again, could he be everything she needed—could he be  _anything_  she needed—or would he always just slow her down? And if he did would she ever admit it? Now that she had kissed him and told him she didn't regret it—that  _he_ shouldn't regret it… did she only take to him out of pity?

He could have waited in her room while she showered, but he let her have a few quiet moments to be by herself in the endless flurry of motion and activity. It was a luxury she wouldn't often have, but, as much as Ignis would have preferred to be by her side, he would give her solitude as often as he was able.

It was more difficult, these days, to find some way to make himself useful. No one wanted a blind man for help.

His body was still too tired from Altissia to while away the time with training, so he looked elsewhere. He felt, if possible, more blind without Reina at his side. Clearly, his sight was no more present when she was guiding him, but somehow he felt more isolated without her. So much of the world was built on sight. It wasn't something he had thought about, before. Most people could engage—interact—merely by seeing. Now he was robbed of that. Somehow, he managed not to think about it most of the time.

Now he recognized why.

When he walked with Reina, she translated all the sights into something he could understand. She was the intermediary. She was the bridge between his world—all in darkness—and what was beyond. Today, he was cut off from that.

 _Ridiculous_ , he chided himself.

He still, of course, knew the layout of the city. He still had his other senses. He could still make himself useful. Maybe he had lost use of his sight and thereby lost the ability to do much that he once had, but that was no reason to fall prey to self pity.

Ignis followed the smell of cooking food and found Monica in the Leville kitchens. She didn't turn down his offer of help.

With his hands put to use once more, he hoped to escape some of the nagging doubts that had been following him all day. That was less successful than he anticipated.

It had only been yesterday when she kissed him; that should have been the end of things.

For months he had wondered if—indeed, he had practically already decided that—he had overstepped his bounds with her in Zegnautus. It had been a stupid thought. Actually,  _thought_  hadn't factored into the equation at all, in that moment—only the belief that he would die there with Prompto and Gladio and never have the opportunity to tell her how he felt.

How he had always felt.

But she had always been a princess and he just a retainer. She hardly spared him a second glance, growing up. For all that there had been years in their childhood when he spent nearly as much time with her as he did with Noctis, she had always regarded him as Noct's friend. Noct's advisor. Noct's retainer. He should have been both, but Reina had never shown any sort of interest in him. She  _had_ shown interest in Gladiolus. That, he thought, was that. He had carried on; he always had more work to do and pining would hardly help anyone.

And then she had told him—in those quiet moments before the battle with Leviathan—that she wasn't with Gladio and never had been. It sparked a glimmer of hope that he hadn't dared nourish, before. In the months after, in his convalescence, she had encouraged that—whether she had meant to or not. She was always at his side then, it seemed. He kept expecting her to push him to stand on his own, to let go and let him fall or fight without her, but she never had.

If not for all of that, if not for that conversation about Gladiolus, if not for years of hidden affection, he never would have kissed her. It had been a mistake at the time, but somehow, miraculously, she hadn't noticed his blunder.

Regardless of how definitive everything had been the day before on the ferry, he couldn't help but wonder in the hours that had passed since. She hadn't said a word about it. Of course, she hadn't had the chance to say a word about it, but all the same—

Ignis' knife slipped.

Cutting vegetables while blind was potentially hazardous. Cutting vegetables while blind and distracted was just plain stupid.

He clutched his hand, pressing it with the other. His palm was slippery with blood, but the pain hadn't sunk in, yet. Hopefully he hadn't ruined the onions.

"Ignis?" Monica was at his elbow, though he had been too distracted to hear her approach. "Did you cut yourself?"

"It's nothing." Ignis turned his head down and shut his useless eye. If he wasn't blind—if he hadn't been so bloody distracted—"Is there blood on the onions?"

"No, they're fine." Monica touched his arm. "Come on, then. Let's get you cleaned up."

"That's not necessary; I won't take your time." Ignis stepped away, holding his cut hand shut and against his chest as he reached for the cane he had leaned against the counter.

"Are you sure you can manage?" He heard her shoes shuffle on the floor as she took a step after him.

Ignis didn't lift his head. It wasn't a question she would have asked anyone else. Was he sure he could manage, seeing as he was blind?

"Quite sure," he said.

He didn't run into anything on his way out of the kitchen, but walking was always slower by feel than by sight. By the time he reached the hallway his hand was stinging furiously and he could feel the blood dripping down his wrist.

_Of all the stupid…_

He hadn't cut himself cooking in years. He was better than that. He  _had been_ better than that, but his Gods damned  _eyes—_

And of course he couldn't accept help because that would be admitting it was a disability. A disability not to be able to see.  _Of course it was a bloody disability_.

The tip of his cane dragged over the stairs and slid free, warning him when he was at the top. He brushed his elbow against the wall, counting doors as he walked.

He would just have to make do. With soap, water, and a towel he could at least get cleaned up and stop the bleeding. Except he couldn't tell how bad the cut was except by feel and all it  _felt_ like was painful.

_Stupid, bloody idiot—_

"Ignis?"

He hadn't heard the door open, but it must have done so after he passed. He  _should_ have noticed. Hell, he should have noticed that the shower wasn't running when he walked by. Distracted again.

"Your Highness." He bowed his head, the old title slipping out. He might have called her 'Your Majesty,' but she opposed  _that_ one fiercely.

She didn't even object to it.

"What happened?" She asked, and quite suddenly she was standing in front of him, hands on his wrist, drawing his hand away from his chest and prying his fingers open.

"I… was careless with a kitchen knife."

Perhaps she disbelieved him; the pause was long enough that he half believed she was looking askance at him.

But all she said was, "Let me help."

He had denied it from Monica and pride dictated that he deny it from Reina, as well. How could he, though, when all he wanted was to be with her?

She took his elbow and led him back to her room. He followed, unresisting. Her steps were light on the carpet, but he could hear each one, feel each silent gesture as she turned and he followed. For a moment he forgot he couldn't see.

The bathroom was still thick with steam and moisture. It smelled like her.

She ran the water in the sink and stuck his hand underneath. He dropped his chin to his chest and hid the wince.

"How bad?" He asked.

Her fingers smoothed over his palm, avoiding the cut and rubbing away blood from his wrist and hand.

"Nothing lasting," she said at length.

It wasn't a real answer, which led him to believe it  _was_ bad, but he didn't object. Her magic would heal it and that would be the end of things—save that he had foolishly cut himself while thinking about Reina and that kiss, and then let her, once again, get him out of the mess he had walked into. When was he going to start carrying his own weight, again?

She took his cane away, then pulled his other hand into the sink, washing away the last of the blood. He didn't speak again and neither did she; so often, these days, they had no need for words. She dried his hands and rubbed some sort of cream onto his palm. The flesh tingled as it knit, like a mouthful of harsh mint. When she was through the pain was gone and, he assumed, so was the cut. But she didn't send him away; she gave his cane back and walked him back out into her room.

He sat on her bed where she put him. It was familiar, by now; he had spent more than one night with her tucked against his chest and apparently taking some solace in his presence.

Now it was she who offered solace.

"What's bothering you?" She asked.

He hesitated. How could he confess any of the two dozen worries that had become ingrained in the past year? That he had cut himself while he wondered if she had changed her mind and, if not, how he could possibly be what she wanted—what she needed?

"Nothing, Your Highness."

Her fingers were soft against his cheeks. She took his glasses and he dropped his chin, feeling exposed. Beneath those shaded lenses were scars he could feel but never see. They were coarse and broad, covering one eye completely. What must he have looked like?

"Ignis," she said. "We talked about this. I'm just Reina, to you."

So she hadn't changed her mind—not about that, leastways.

"I—yes… Reina."

"These scars don't change who you are." Her fingers passed over his eyes, and he could feel the touch only by pressure on his sensationless skin. "And they don't change what I think about you. You're still capable. You're still handsome."

He might have objected to the claim about his capabilities if she hadn't followed it with the claim about his appearance. As it was, all he managed to do was sit there, dumbfounded. No one had ever told him he was handsome—not that he usually worried about that sort of thing, but he certainly hadn't expected to hear it when his face was scarred and disfigured.

His lips parted in surprise. She seemed to take it as an invitation.

Her mouth was warm and sweet; he hadn't noticed how much he wanted to kiss her, again, until then.

It didn't eliminate the doubt or the worry that he could never live up to the place she had given him… but it was distracting in the best way possible.

Still, he had to know.

"Reina…" He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers. "You… haven't changed your mind?"

"Of course I haven't. I still mean every word I've said to you… every kiss I've given you." Her lips brushed his when she spoke.

Ignis let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. From the context, he should have been able to form such a conclusion on his own, but hearing her say it was so much better. So much more solid.

"Relax, Ignis… it's just us here, behind a closed door…" She kissed him again, more lightly. "And this time there's no Gladio to interrupt."


	17. To Catch a Dream

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######  _1 September, 757:_

Never before had she lain down to sleep with the intention of Dreaming. For thirteen years they had haunted her nighttime hours; when she slept, it was always with a lingering sense of dread. The question, unasked, waited to be answered each time she closed her eyes: what Sight would the night bring?

When the Dreams had first come—those nights in Tenebrae when she Dreamed each night of Magitek soldiers falling from the sky—the only way she could overcome the fear and fall asleep at all was by curling up in her father's bed. As years passed, the visions became more sporadic, the terror lessened, but no matter how old she grew she always feared to Dream.

Perhaps that was why she hardly slept, now: when all the world fell away into quiet darkness, she knew that no one would wake her if she was trapped.

It was a ghost that had haunted her for most of her life. Tonight, she turned around to face it.

 _Show me the future_.

She let go of reality and consciousness, and slipped into the black stream of sleep. It was a current too strong to fight; once she was pulled in, she couldn't get back out.

But it didn't take her to the future. It took her back, dragging her to the one event she never wanted to see again. So many nights it had haunted her; by now she knew it so well that the images played before her waking eyes, some days.

The passage behind him was sealed; beyond the barrier, Nyx Ulric and Lunafreya stood watching even as he turned away. In that instant of quiet, Reina could see the truth on his face. He had always known he would die, when he sent them away.

"Father!" She screamed but no sound came out. She threw herself in front of him, but the blade passed through her shapeless form.

 _It's just a Dream,_ she told herself.  _I did this—I put myself here. I can wake up._

But she couldn't even close her eyes to block out the vision; she had no eyes.

Bones crunched. It was a sickening sound that Reina had never expected to learn, a year ago. Now she would never forget it.

"No!  _Father!_ "

She could turn, but she couldn't touch him, couldn't grasp his shoulders, couldn't make herself known to him. He gasped as Drautos' blade plunged farther, straight out through his sternum. It was the last sound he ever managed.

But even as blood painted his black suit red, even as he struggled for his last breath, he reached for his ringing phone. And there was her face. The last thing he saw.

His eyes went dark and unfocused, but they never closed. Drautos pulled his sword free, and for a moment he still stood. When Drautus pushed, he fell forward without reaction. His phone clattered to the ground. And it rang.

_This isn't what I wanted, Gods damn it!_

Whatever it was that put those visions in her mind delighted in making her suffer. It sent her back, night after night, week after week, month after month, until she could have recounted every one of his last seconds.

_I want to wake up. Let me wake up!_

The Citadel dissolved, taking Drautos and her father's lifeless form along with it. Bit by bit, she regained awareness of the physical.

"Reina?" Ignis grasped her shoulders, shaking her gently. How long had he been trying to wake her? When had she first cried out?

She grabbed his hands to let him know she was awake. Her cheeks were wet with tears; they fell, still, even as she tilted her head back and tried to find her control again. Ignis, at least, had been in her room when she had fallen asleep. Cor and Weskham hadn't been.

"I said this was a bad idea." Cor was standing in the doorway. Tonight, Weskham stood behind him.

The only thing she hated more than his lack of empathy in that moment was the fact that he was right. She ground her teeth together and shut her eyes. More tears spilled over. Ignis' hands touched her cheeks; he brushed them away.

"Is there anything we can do?" Weskham's voice was warm and deep; he sounded genuinely concerned. For the first time, it occurred to her that he had never witnessed her Dreams before. They had started years after he left.

Reina shook her head. The only person that could have helped—that had ever helped—was dead. Not even her subconscious would let her forget that.

"I will stay," Ignis said. "It would be best if everyone else resumed their beds."

They took the dismissal. When the door was shut and it was just the two of them, Ignis laid down beside her and wrapped her in his arms. She cried into the front of his shirt, pictures that she never wanted to see again painted before her eyes.

"You Dreamed of the Citadel, again?" Ignis asked at length.

She only nodded, not trusting her voice.

They stayed there until she had shed all the tears she still had left. Her eyes ached, her mouth was dry, and her head throbbed, but she did stop crying.

"The Gods must hate me," she said, voice hoarse.

"You think the Gods send you those visions?" He asked.

"Of course. Who else?"

Ignis was silent for a while. She looked up at him to find a furrow on his brow.

"Do you believe that Ardyn spoke the truth—that you have the potential to control this?"

What an odd question. Hadn't they just discussed it the day before? And yet…

"I thought so…" That current that pulled her under was like an irresistible power. She could dive into it, but how could she ever control it? How could she ever steer it?

"I believe that you can," Ignis said. "And therefore, by extension, I believe it is  _you_ who tortures yourself… rather than the Gods."

Reina pulled back from his chest. "You think I want to see that? You think I  _want_ to hear his last, gasping breath and watch his eyes turn cold?"

"No. But I think that your Dreams take you where your mind dwells. That is most often with the king, is it not?"

It was, of course. Even when she distracted herself, he was there. Had she really heard his voice in Altissia, telling her to use his magic? It had seemed so real at the time, but now…

"Did you witness anything new, tonight?" Ignis asked.

Reina shook her head before remembering he couldn't see. "No. I knew it was a Dream, but I couldn't escape. I just… wanted to touch him one last time. To let him know I was with him."

She leaned forward to press her forehead against Ignis' chest again. It sounded stupid when she said it, but the words made her eyes burn with tears again.

Ignis' hands smoothed over her back. "What was it you observed last time—that you called him just at that moment?"

"I watched him take his phone from his pocket, again. He was dying, but he still looked at his phone—like he meant to answer it."

"Then perhaps you did reach out to him."

Reina looked up again, brow furrowed. She couldn't stop Drautos' blade—but every time she watched her father die she wished, if nothing else, that she could have been with him. Then, at least, he wouldn't have been alone.

But perhaps he hadn't been.

"He had that picture of me on his phone—it was some dumb thing he took while I wasn't paying attention and he made me set it to his phone because he said he couldn't sort out how to edit contact information. I tried to get him to change it, later, but he wouldn't let me. That's… what was on his screen when I called him. That's the last thing he saw."

Was that why he had pulled his phone out? He must have known he couldn't answer it, but he could see her face one last time…

Ignis caught her face between his hands. "You were always with him. I am certain His Majesty knew that."

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she  _had_ been taken where her mind always dwelled.

All that remained, then, was to learn to think of something else.


	18. Risk and Reward

__

######  _2 September, 757:_

With Ignis at her side, Reina had managed to salvage some of the night. Enough, at least, that when she rose in the dark of morning she was groggy and slow. She forced her muscles to wake by picking up her usual morning training with Ignis. Now that Iris was training with Cor, Reina had that time to spend on other things, but she did miss those extra hours with Iris.

Maybe it was that. Maybe it was feeling reckless after a bad night face with Cor's perpetual doubts. Maybe it was the sound of her father's voice in her ear, telling her to use his magic and the fact that, for the first time, she had someone to practice with.

Whatever the reason, noon found her in the square beyond Lestallum's outer wall, taking advantage of the three hours of light, telling Libertus to pull out all stops and force the issue. She  _would_ learn how to phase. If she could do nothing else right, she would do this.

"You sure you want to do this, Your Majesty?"

Reina's jaw tightened. "I'm not your queen, Libertus."

"Are you sure you wanna do this,  _Your Highness_?" He amended.

Did she want to give a blade to a betrayer and tell him to teach her? Did she want to trust a Glaive? No. She had scant other choices, however, and all of them were worse.

"Just do it."

He swung his handaxe. Reina leapt back with practiced ease; Cor had taught her that much, at least. But not even the Immortal moved as fast as lightning. Libertus threw out his hand. The magic caught her arm and she felt the burn before she even heard the crack. She winced, recoiling too late. How was she meant to defend against that? She had no  _time_.

"Stop  _thinking_ ," Libertus said. "Start  _doing_. You should have been able to phase through that."

Noct had always said it was like a reflex, once he got the hang of it. It was the getting there that was the troublesome part.

Libertus came at her again. He feinted left and lunged right while Reina was still trying to remember what it felt like to warp. It was, she reasoned, basically the same principle.

She learned quickly that it was much more difficult to avoid a blade without the use of her own.

 _Gods damn—_ she swore silently as his axe caught her other shoulder, slicing a neat line through shirt and skin alike.

This time, Libertus didn't pause to chide her. He continued the barrage of blows. For a big man, he moved uncannily fast. He drove her back, step by step, toward the short wall before the drop. Though he had more tells than Cor, he didn't give her the opportunity to think about what he was doing or where he was going to move. When she had no naginata to counter with and no way to get the upper hand, she had very few options  _except_ to move back.

He pressed harder, his axe a blur of motion. Sometimes she managed to sidestep his blows. Sometimes she didn't. Sweat dripped from her brow. Blood trickled down her arms underneath her sleeves. How was she supposed to stop thinking when she was stinging from half a dozen cuts and burns? It was impossible. Maybe she  _should_ have been able to phase—but by rights she  _should_ have had magic without Father's help and the fact was that she didn't.

Perhaps she simply wasn't cut out for this.

Perhaps she  _couldn't_ learn to phase.

Perhaps this was all a waste of time and she was going to get herself killed with a foolhardy venture.

She swiped at the sweat on her forehead to keep it from dripping into her eyes. If she couldn't see she was only going to die faster. But that little time was a opening all on its own and Libertus took it.

Reina watched him prime for the lunge. She was in just the wrong place; if she'd had her naginata she might have done something, but by the time his motions gave lie to his plans, it was already too late for her.

She stopped  _trying_ not to think. That meant thinking about not thinking. All thoughts drained from her mind until the only one left was this:

_If I don't move faster, he's going to kill me. Just like Drautos killed Father._

She was going to be skewered on the end of his blade, straight through the middle.

_Just…._

_Like…_

_Father…_

And then she  _wasn't_ in the wrong place anymore.

Her world flashed, as if she had blinked without meaning to, and when it re-solidified she was six inches away from his outstretched blade.

Libertus stabbed a hollow blue shadow, instead.

He froze, holding that position, perhaps because he had  _also_ known he was going to kill her with that strike or perhaps because of his surprise at having not done so.

Reina froze, as well. She stared at the fading shadow, not breathing, not moving. No wonder trying to warp hadn't helped. It didn't feel anything like warping. It felt like… stepping through time.

"Damn good timing, too." Libertus finally lowered his axe. "I don't mean to be the one that gives another reason for us to be called Kingkillers."

Reina let out a breath. Her face was still painted with shock, wide-eyed but tight-lipped.

"Enough." Cor's voice cut through her stunned un-thoughts. "If you two are quite finished with this  _idiotic_ notion, I want you both back inside before what's left of the daylight fades."

It seemed that Cor had lost whatever fear of her had driven him to show some sort of respect. He never would have spoken to her father that way.

"Sorry, Marshal. Just doing what the queen—princess—asked." Libertus stowed his axe and lifted his hands.

Cor spared him only a second for a glare. It was all the dismissal Libertus needed; he turned tail and returned to the city.

Reina watched him go and her eyes were drawn to the wall. People crowded the tops of buildings, all along the edge; she hadn't realized that their little training session had attracted an audience. Cor didn't give her much time to dwell on it.

"What were you  _thinking?_ You could have been killed. You very nearly  _were_ killed. Is there something wrong with learning to use magic in the traditional way, like every other Caelum before you?"

Reina dropped her gaze from the city wall, turning it on him, instead. It had been foolhardy, but she wasn't going to listen to him tell her that. She clenched her fists and stood up taller.

"I don't have the same luxury of time that my forefathers had. If you'll recall, I have a daemonic ancestor who wants me dead. He's sitting out there right now, planning his next move."

To think she had almost believed Cor when he had claimed to be pleased that she had returned from Altissia. Stupid. He wasn't happy that  _she_ was back; he was happy that the princess was back.

Cor hesitated. It was only half a second, but she caught it, anyway. "How do you know that? Did you see—?"

"No." Reina turned away from him, moving toward the city. "I just know."

Cor fell into step beside her as she crossed the street for the makeshift gate. "You can't afford to put your life in danger on a  _feeling_."

"I will do what I think is best for this kingdom." Reina stopped walking and turned to face him again, fists tight at her sides. She was doing her best. She was  _always_ doing her best, and somehow it was never enough for him. "I will do what needs to be done for Lucis' people, for Accordo's survivors, for Tenebrae's refugees, and prepare for my brother's return. The least you could do is recognize that."

"I am well aware of your responsibilities, Your Highness."

"You don't know the first thing about me."

She turned back around and passed through the gate, which waited open for them.

Inside, she was met by Iris and Ignis at the head of a growing crowd.

"Reina! Are you okay?" Iris rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her eyes flicked over Reina. "Gods—you don't look okay."

Reina hadn't noticed until Iris said something. She turned her gaze down, taking in the state of her tattered and bloody clothes. She sported at least a dozen neat cuts from Libertus' axe and a few burn marks besides. It hadn't hurt before she thought about it.

"Reina…?" Ignis stood still, his head turned down and his hand on his cane. "You are injured?"

She looked up at him, suddenly thankful that he couldn't see. "Nothing serious."

She shot Iris a warning glance and Iris pressed her lips together. Ignis didn't believe her, but at least he didn't press the issue. Not while they were standing out in the street.

"Let's go back to the hotel." Reina took his free arm. "I want to get cleaned up." And patched up.

She didn't look over her shoulder at Cor as they walked away. Whatever he said, she didn't regret what she had done. After all, the experiment had been a success.

She could phase.

* * *

Cor watched her walked away. The crowd thinned out in her wake, leaving just him standing in the middle of the street—or so he thought, right up until Weskham's hand landed on his shoulder.

Cor glanced at him, but Weskham was looking straight ahead at Reina's retreating form. Cor sighed and turned back.

She was probably right; he didn't know the first thing about her, but what little he did know didn't seem to help. He might have known, for instance, that going out to deliver a lecture to her was unlikely to win him any awards. Somehow, he hadn't been able to stop himself. She could have been killed. She nearly  _had_ been killed—and that last blow… Cor preferred not to dwell on it.

"Are you going to go after her?" Weskham asked.

"Why the hell would I go after her?"

"Perhaps to apologize…. Unless, of course, you have no regrets about how you handled that situation."

Cor turned to glare. This time, Weskham did look at him.

"Of course I regret it. But I'm not going to apologize." Cor pulled away. He had work to do; he didn't need to stand around and listen to Weskham tell him how badly he had fucked up his relationship with Reina.

Weskham didn't move, even when Cor stepped away. He just raised his voice and called: "Because you can't admit you were wrong?"

It was enough. Cor stopped and turned to look at him again. He could admit when he made a mistake—hell, he was the first person to admit when he fucked up. But with Reina…

"Because no matter what I say, it will always be the wrong thing."

It never seemed to matter what he  _meant_ , or even what he  _planned_. She faced him down with that impassive gaze and he lashed out in response. Or else, even if he did manage to say what he intended, she took it the wrong way. Sometimes he thought she was looking for reasons to dislike him.

"You surprise me, Cor. I never thought of you as one to give up," Weskham said.

Cor's jaw tightened. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I am  _not_ giving up."

He was giving up.

Weskham didn't say anything; he just stood there, unmoving as he studied Cor. It was an unsettling sort of gaze. It had always made Cor feel as if Weskham knew more about him than he did, himself. It still had the same effect, after all these years.

Cor sighed. He dropped his arms and shook his head. "What would you have me do?"

"Let her calm down—Ignis is good at that—and then go to her. Apologize for your behavior and explain why you did it." Weskham said it as if those were simple things to do.

"I told her it was stupid because it  _was_ stupid," Cor snapped.

"Why?"

"Because she might have been killed!"

"Ah." Weskham smiled—it would have been a self-satisfied smirk on any less dignified face. "Because you were afraid."

Cor dropped his gaze. "Yes."

"Why does her death frighten you?"

"Does it not frighten you?" Cor asked.

"Of course it does. But we're discussing your motivations. Why does it frighten  _you_?"

Cor shook his head and turned back around. "I refuse to stand here and have you pick through my brain like a fucking psychiatrist. I have work to do."

"Don't wait too long to apologize," Weskham called. "If she thinks about it too long, it will only add to her resentment."

Monica had reports on the Kingsglaive's progress restoring electricity and Iris was waiting to train with him. He walked away and Weskham didn't follow.

Iris was a competent fighter and an able student. Cor shouldn't have been surprised, given who her father had been, but he was. She certainly didn't look cut out for the role, nor did she act it. Still, after picking up the reports from Monica, Cor whiled away some two hours in training with Iris, at the end of which they were both well and truly ready for a break. He sent her on her way and lingered outside the now-empty training room for a few moments. How was it that he had no problem during training with Iris and had every problem during training with Reina?

He  _had_ intended to return straight to his room, after, but somehow he ended up outside Reina's door.

He hesitated. He lifted his hand to knock, then dropped it again.

_This is ridiculous. What the hell am I doing?_

She was only going to tell him off. He could apologize all he liked; it wouldn't change anything between them. And besides, he  _didn't_ regret telling her it was stupid—it  _had_ been stupid, damn it, and someone had to tell her the uncomfortable truths.

What he regretted was the result: that she thought she wasn't trying hard enough for him, that she thought he neither knew her nor wanted to. None of those things were true, but he couldn't fix them with words. Hell, he probably couldn't fix them at all.

But Weskham's words rang in his ears. Cor lifted his hand again, but didn't knock. It was already too late, probably; besides, his actions had added to her resentment from the start. Nothing he could say would change that.

He flexed his hand and stared at the door.

It opened.

Cor's eyes widened and, for a moment, he found himself staring at an equally surprised Reina. Then the surprise vanished and her mask fitted back into place.

"Something I can do for you, Marshal?"

"Yes—no, Your Majesty—Highness."

_What. The. Fuck._

Reina gazed up at him impassively; her only expression was the barest lift of one eyebrow.

_Gods all—just spit it out, Cor!_

"I… came to apologize, Your Highness," he said. "I was out of line."

She considered him for one second—two seconds—too many seconds. At last she gave a short nod.

"I accept your apology, Marshal." It seemed to be all she was going to say.

Cor bowed, mind ringing, and fled before he said something stupid. By the time he reached his room, he was already cursing himself.

He hadn't told her anything. He hadn't done half of what Weskham had said; he hadn't tried to explain himself or tell her that he thought she was doing a good job. All he had done was apologize, and it meant nothing to her.

But he couldn't admit he was afraid of losing her.


	19. Disbanded

######  _September - October, 757:_

"Word from Meldacio, Your Highness." Monica stood before Reina at the conference table to deliver her report. "The road has been blocked off by daemons for months, but they managed to get word through. They have hunters and civilians from behind Vesperpool holed up with them, but no way through."

"We should send a contingent of Glaives to clear the way," Weskham suggested.

"We would have to send enough to protect the convoy coming back," Cor said.

"There will be hunters to help, by that time," Weskham said.

"Not if we leave them there," Reina said.

Silence fell and all eyes turned toward her.

"Meldacio has too many resources to abandon to the daemons," She said. "The quarries north of there produce not only the stone we will need for expanding our housing blocks here in Lestallum and beyond, but valuable metals for supplying our troops. If we pull out all of our forces, we lose that."

"If you want to hold the fort permanently, Meldacio will need a leader," Cor said. "Right now, they have only scattered hunters and civilians. They need a commander up there."

"Someone with extensive combat and command experience," Monica suggested.

Because they had so many options for that.

"One of the remaining Crownsguards?" Cor suggested.

"Are you volunteering, Marshal?" Reina asked.

He looked sharply at her. "As I understood it, you wish me in command of the Glaives."

He could have done that from Meldacio. What was really holding him back? Surely he wanted away from her as much as she wanted him out of her hair. He should have jumped at the chance.

"All the Crownsguard officers have been reassigned to work with the Glaive," Monica said. "And we're about all that is left."

"Not quite all." Reina's eyes caught on Gladio, who was standing near the door. "Gladiolus. How would you like command of Meldacio?"

Gladio straightened. The look on his face said he didn't like it much at all. "You want me in Meldacio?"

"You have extensive combat experience and are accustomed to handling trainees. You also have no responsibilities that hold you strictly to Lestallum," Reina said.

Cor glanced him over. "It's not a bad idea. The King's Shield automatically commands a certain respect. You won't have to build it up from dirt with the hunters."

Gladio glanced between them, looking for a way out and evidently finding nothing. "Right. I guess that's that, then. When are we leaving?"

The squad of Glaives was organized with Monica in short order and transportation was arranged for all those going north. For Gladio—who was not intended to return with the Glaives—that meant a thorough packing of all his possessions. He took to it, though only reluctantly. At the first opportunity, he caught her alone to tell her what he really thought of the assignment.

"Reina. Hey."

"Gladio. What can I do for you?"

"Look. I know we don't always get along, anymore, but I gotta know… are you sending me to Meldacio to get rid of me?"

That thought had honestly not occurred to her before that moment. Getting rid of Cor, yes. Getting rid of Gladio, not so much. Now that she did think of it, though…

"It's just…" Gladio said, "You had Iris sworn in as your Shield—I still don't like it, but I guess it ain't for me to like—and now you're dropping me in some backwater outpost miles away from Lestallum. It just looks like… did I do something wrong?"

"No," she said. That, at least, was the truth. It wasn't so much what he had done as what he was.

"Right…" Gladio let out a breath, like he had been holding it throughout. "I thought, maybe—it's stupid. I just thought maybe you thought it was awkward with you and Ignis, after the two of us… y'know… that one time."

Reina blinked at him. The world was literally dying and he was thinking about that one time he had kissed her four years ago? Did he honestly have nothing more pressing to occupy his thoughts?

"I have truly given very little thought to that night since then," Reina said.

"Right…" The look on his face said that he had. He cleared his throat. "Well. Uh. Right."

Titillating conversation.

"You may rest assured that I am not sending you to Meldacio because of Ignis or anything that may have transpired between you and I in the past," Reina reiterated. "Is there anything else?"

A pause as he collected his thoughts and dragged them out of whatever hole she had unwittingly dropped them in when she told him she had never even considered that kiss he gave her after that week. Then he straightened and seemed to refocus on the here and now.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't like it one bit. Maybe I'm Noct's Shield, but the Amicitias are sworn to protect the Caelums. All the Caelums. And growing up it never mattered one bit whether Noct was the heir or you were. I was meant to protect both of you—and I don't mean to stop."

It had certainly mattered that Noctis was heir and she was not, growing up, but this was a poor time to split hairs. As it happened, he had put his finger on more or less the reason that she did want him gone—though she hadn't realized until that moment.

"You are Noctis' Shield, Gladiolus," Reina said. "And you always have been. That is why I want you in Meldacio. Because, no matter how I loathe it, I must rule this kingdom, and I cannot do that while I stand in his shadow."

"You think I'm not loyal to you?" Gladio asked, incensed. "I'd give my life to protect you."

"If you were forced to choose between my life and Noctis', whose would you choose?"

He opened his mouth. Then shut it.

After a moment, he tried again. "You can't base important decisions on stupid, rhetorical questions."

"No? Not even when it proves so much about you?"

"I should be protecting you! It's what Noct would have wanted!"

Reina turned away. "Go. Meldacio awaits."

He didn't speak to her again before he left.

A few weeks later, she found a similar situation for Prompto. Glaives who passed through Old Lestallum mentioned that a lone chocobo had wandered through town. Someone had the good sense to corral it, knowing that a domestic chocobo—or even a wild one—was unlikely to survive long, outside. But no one was quite certain of what to do with a chocobo in this day and age.

Reina cornered Prompto with a proposition she knew he couldn't resist. "I want you to go to Old Lestallum and take charge of that chocobo."

"Really?! Uh—I mean—sure! I can do that."

"That isn't all: I want you to make your way to the old Chocobo Post in Duscae and see what can be done about securing others. I doubt they're still confined at the Post—but given the population of chocobos that was once out there, you'll have the best chance starting your search there."

"Didn't we lose contact with the Chocobo Post when the road washed out?"

"Yes. There's no power out there and you'll have to go by foot—or on that chocobo."

His smile slipped. "First Gladio, now it's my turn, huh?"

She didn't say anything. What was the point in denying it? Having them around reminded her too sharply of Noctis. And she couldn't help but think of what Cid had told her: she did need her own circle; she couldn't hide behind Noctis, forever, but she would try if they stayed.

Prompto shook his head. "I guess I knew it was coming. I mean, we never really talked that much, even before… but look—I know Noct would want us to stick by you, no matter what. Crownsguard is supposed to protect the crown, right? I can't just leave you…"

"I'll be fine." For some reason it was harder to push Prompto away that Gladio. Maybe because she had other reasons to dislike Gladio, but Prompto had never been anything but sweet and friendly—if sometimes obnoxious. "I'll have Iris. And this is important—if you can retrieve those chocobos, Lucis can use them."

He pulled a face—reluctant and unconvinced. "You're not going to send Iggy away, right?"

"I don't think I can."

He seemed to take some comfort in that, at least. "Right. Well. I guess… if you're sure about this…"

"I am."

"Just—uh—I know I'm not a Shield or a Royal Adviser or anything fancy… I'm just some Niff-turned-Lucian, but if you ever need anything… just give me a holler, alright?" He took a step back, and another, though only hesitantly.

"I will," she said.

"Right. Uh, catch you later, then, I guess. I'm off to save the chocobos!"

And that was that. Noctis' retinue disbanded and sent away. She told herself she wasn't sorry to see them go, but it was still with a tinge of regret that she thought back on the days they had spent—all five of them together in the Regalia driving across Lucis. Never had she thought she would view those days fondly; at the time they had seemed the darkest days of her life. But everything was relative, wasn't it? And people had a way of forgetting the bad, when they recalled old memories.

For now, it was time to move on. With her own budding circle and growing retinue.

* * *

A part of him had always known it was coming. Ever since Noctis had gone inside the crystal, it had only been a matter of time until the remains of his group dissolved. Indeed, they had hardly been a team at all, since then. They sat, sometimes, together during mealtimes, but often no one said a word. Gone were the nights of cheeky banter and teasing. It would take some time before that returned. Or perhaps it never would—never for them. When they were together, Noctis' absence was so much more stark and glaring. It was easier to move on when they were apart.

Reina sent Gladio away, first. Off to Meldacio, to hold the hunter outpost and maintain some sort of order in the wilderness there. He didn't say much to Ignis, just clasped his arm in farewell slapped him on the back, and said:

"Take care of her, Iggy."

That he once again regarded Ignis as someone who could take care of anyone at all—let alone to be trusted with the princess' safety—rather than one who needed to be protected, himself, was enough. All the unsaid words that had hung between them in the year since Ignis had lost his vision dissolved. Gone was the doubt. Gone was that feeling of obligation and the sense of needing to prove himself. Gladio no longer thought of him as a cripple. And that was more powerful than any farewell could have been.

Prompto was less direct, dancing around his goodbyes as he packed his bags to set out for Old Lestallum. He masked his discomfort underneath foolery and uneasy jokes, but they were both aware that this was the end of their group—for a long time. Prompto didn't work up the courage to properly say goodbye until he stood at the gate in front of the truck that would take him to Duscae.

"Well… I guess this is it," Prompto said. "Not really sure when I'll be back, so… just… yeah. You'll keep Rei safe, right, Iggy?"

"But of course."

"Yeah. Of course you will." He laughed unhappily. "I'll be seeing you, then. Keep yourself safe, too!"

It was the last time for quite some time that either of them were in Lestallum. Longer, still, before they were all together again. Inevitable as it may have been, it felt like the last crumbling of a condemned building. Now nothing was left of them but the rubble.

* * *

She didn't really have time to make up with Gladdy, before Reina sent him away. A childish part of her wasn't sure she wanted to—not until he came and apologized. He was supposed to be the big brother who supported everything she did and believed in her, even when she couldn't. Instead she was trying to follow in his steps and he had pushed her down, telling her she was too little to match his stride.

The other half of her felt empty for having argued with him and not having spoken since.

After Reina ordered him to Meldacio, Iris spent a long time debating with herself over whether or not she would wait for him to come to her, or go herself. Eventually he saved her the trouble of deciding.

"Iris. Hey." He found her on the Leville rooftop one evening after dinner time. It wasn't hard to find her, when that was where she always went.

"Hi Gladdy…"

He sat down beside her, dwarfing her with just that motion. It used to make her feel safe, being so much smaller than him. Now it made her feel insufficient.

For a while they just sat. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something first, but she wouldn't have even known where to begin. Probably he didn't, either.

"Rei's sending me to Meldacio," he said, eventually.

"I know."

"Probably be gone for a long time."

"I know."

"Don't know if I'm coming back at all, actually. Except to report in or whatever."

Iris didn't say anything. She just waited for him to say what he had actually come to say. Neither of them looked at each other.

"About what I said, before… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—and I didn't mean—" He sighed and ran his hands over his face. "—I didn't mean to say you can't be a Shield because you're not as big, or because you're a girl. I just worry about you, is all…"

Iris held onto the edge of the roof and kicked her feet, discontentedly. "You can be worried about me and still believe in me."

"I do believe in you," he said. "You're an Amicitia, aren't you? And Dad always taught us both the same thing: protect the Caelums, serve the crown. You got as much right as I do to be Reina's Shield. More, probably. Noct needed a brother and she needs a sister. So you've got to be that for her, because nobody else is gonna do it."

"I will." For the first time since he had sat down, she turned to look at him. Tears shone in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You really think I can do it?"

"You're already doin' it. It doesn't ever get any easier, so don't you dare give up. You just… keep doing what you're doing. It'll turn out."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that. In spite of her best intentions, one of the tears escaped. Gladio pulled her into a sideways hug, crushing her, one-armed, against his chest.

"Dad woulda been proud, you know," he said. "Two kids and both of us turned into Shields."

They sat on the rooftop in the dark for a long time, after that. It was the last time they spoke before he left for Meldacio. And though she had never been so far away from her brother for so long, it didn't look so daunting, facing all that time without him, anymore.


	20. Dreamer's Dream

__

######  _19 October, 757:_

Every night she lived his death. For months, every time she lay down to sleep, it was with the certainty that she would watch him die once more.

She wanted to give up. She wanted to call the whole idea a lost cause. If this was what it took to gain control of her Dreams, she didn't want that power. But she still lay down, night after night, releasing her hold on reality and dropping into the ever-flowing river that raged beneath consciousness.

_Let me Dream._

Without fail, she did. And without fail, the black river brought her back to the Citadel on that night so many months ago, to relive her worst fear.

It never got any easier. Even knowing she had brought it on herself—even knowing it was a Dream and that, if she could open her eyes, the real world was waiting for her—it was never any easier to watch his eyes grow cold, his body motionless.

Drautos advanced. Lightning flashed, striking his sword and holding. It did little to impede his progress and Father knew that. The resignation on his face—he had always known that the imperials weren't coming for peace—was stark against regret.

Reina didn't cry out. She had stopped screaming in her Dreams once she could discern what they were. Shouting would only bring the household running. But she could feel hot tears on her cheeks. All she had to do was wake herself and it would all be over. She could do it, now; she could feel her body, a year and several hundred miles away, and if she dropped back into it...

_No._

It wasn't the senseless cry that she usually uttered at the sight of her father's death. She didn't scramble for the surface; she didn't try to scream with lungs that weren't even attached to her anymore.

It was a solitary word, impressed—not with her lips but with her mind—against her own subconscious, which sent her through time night after night to witness what she had never wanted to see in the first place. It was her will and she sharpened it to an edge until it was inescapable.

_Not tonight. Not ever again. Now you show me what I wish to see. Show me Ardyn._

The vision of her father vanished and there was nothingness; not even the black of sleep or the senseless color of normal dreams. She passed through it—crossing time for her own purpose; the current pulled at her, trying to sweep her up and drag her along as it had done every time before. But not this night. This night she chose her own path.

She stood in a small village, hardly larger than Hammerhead, located on the little islands to the west of Lucis' mainland. It was scarcely more than a collection of run-down houses, cobbled together from bits and pieces, struggling to stay upright.

And it was dark; the light from Lestallum didn't reach so far, yet.

But the daemons had.

Lantern light wasn't bright enough to keep them at bay; they came in droves, hundreds upon hundreds and the people stood no chance against the dark tide.

Ardyn stood in the center while chaos reigned around: the eye of the storm, the puppetmaster. He smirked, like the screams that filled the air were music to his ears, and spread his hands.

"Ah, Lucis. How far the mighty have fallen." He threw his head back and laughed.

A child raced past him. Ardyn turned his head, watching but unmoving as a daemon swept from the horde and buried claws into the boy's back. Reina would never forget the resulting scream.

Ardyn regarded the gruesome show with indifference, before turning around to walk down the street.

"Come out, come out, little Dreamer…"

* * *

Reina gasped for air, thrusting the blankets away and sitting upright in bed.

"Reina?" Ignis' voice was hoarse with sleep and thick with confusion.

To her, the world was crisp and clear. No fogginess of sleep remained—in fact, it felt as if she had never been asleep in the first place. She had simply been conscious in another time and place.

"Galahd," she said.

"...Galahd?"

"Ardyn is going to Galahd."

"You Dreamed of Galahd?" Ignis asked.

"I Dreamed of Ardyn, and Ardyn will be in Galahd, with his army of daemons."

"And you Dreamed… intentionally?" Ignis asked.

"Yes."

"Can you do it again?"

Reina considered. The stream had responded when she impressed her will on it. All her life she had thought of it as a raging river, sweeping her along wherever  _it_ wanted her to go. Tonight, that analogy no longer seemed sufficient. It was a road beneath her feet, branching and winding, certainly, but she was the one who walked it. She was the one who decided where to go.

"I think so," Reina said.

He asked nothing more about her Dream, but, after a moment: "What are we to do?"

She tried to make her brain work. It was difficult to gauge time within her Dreams, sometimes—not only because she seemed to be able to Dream hours of material within minutes, but because there were usually very few indicators of exactly  _when_ an event occurred. It could happen within hours or days or even weeks. But regardless of the day, he  _would_ be in Galahd and they  _did_ need to evacuate the village.

Better, then, that they go sooner rather than later. If they were too late the results could be catastrophic for those people still in Galahd. If they were too early then her forces were rushed for a few hours and everyone got out safely before Ardyn arrived. The tradeoff was well worth it.

"Get dressed. I'm going to wake Cor—we're leaving within the hour."

He didn't question her and she didn't give him time to. She pulled on her clothes in record time and was out her door and pounding on Cor's before she realized her shirt was unbuttoned. She did them up, not caring if she missed one in the process, and knocked on Cor's door again. This time it opened underneath her fist.

Cor stood in the doorway, half-dressed and blinking sleep from his eyes. "Your High—"

"Prepare the Glaive. We're leaving for Galahd. You have ten minutes."

Perhaps he would have stood and stared at her for a few moments while her words settled into his sleep-addled brain, but Reina didn't linger long enough to find out. She turned on her heel, pushing tangled hair from her face, and went to wake Iris.

It took Iris longer to answer the knock at her door. But, to her credit, she registered the look on Reina's face more quickly. Her eyes focused and she stood up a little straighter.

"Get dressed. I'm leaving for Galahd with the Glaive; I need my Shield."

Iris' wide eyes widened.

"R-right!"

By the time Reina returned to her rooms, Ignis was already waiting, fully dressed with cane in hand. They made for the outer gate together.

Cor was waiting for them alongside the trucks. The Glaives appeared in twos and threes and loaded onto the trucks with minimal conversation. Other than them and the hunters on night watch, the streets were deserted. Everyone else was still abed.

"Your Highness!"

Reina turned to see Libertus still pulling on his coat as he walked.

"Is it true? We're going back to Galahd?"

"It is," Reina said.

"Why? What's happened? Did the daemons—?"

"Nothing has happened, yet. We're going to evacuate them before it does."

With any luck, the only evidence of their passing through would be the complete lack of anyone left behind. But there was still the lingering possibility that they wouldn't have enough time to evacuate before Ardyn arrived. With that in mind, she packed the trucks with as may Glaives as she had at her disposal.

Libertus stared at her for a moment.

"Get aboard; we have  _no time_." Reina motioned him toward the cars.

He went, shaking his head as if to kickstart it, and climbed up with the others.

"That's the last of them, Your Highness," Cor said.

"I'm here, too!" Iris arrived, looking a little out of breath. "Sorry."

"Accepted," Reina said. "Let's move."

They left Lestallum and moved west through the dark. Daemons littered the road; most of them fled from the headlights, but some were bolder and had to be persuaded to let them pass. The Glaives cut a path of white lightning and blue fire through them.

They reached the bridge that connected the western islands to the Lucis mainland—an old wooden structure, which swayed in a slight breeze—and on the opposite side they could see the flickering of flames.

"Fires ahead," Reina said for Ignis' benefit.

Whatever was burning, the flames must have been twenty feet tall to see them above the treetops. Reina stuck her head out the window, trying to discern the source; ahead, she could hear shouting.

"Keep going."She dropped back into her seat.

Cor didn't object. He had been surprisingly cooperative all night. He hit the accelerator and led their convoy across the bridge.

It  _did_ sway beneath the weight of the truck. Reina dug her fingers into the edge of her seat, leaning forward and trying to see through the trees on the opposite side. She chewed her lip. Uncomfortable though the thought was, she knew it was possible that Ardyn had arrived first and there was nothing she could do except rush the Glaive across.

The truck reached the other side of the bridge. The roads here were just dirt—rutted with rain and crumbling from disuse—but Cor sent them barreling down, nonetheless.

"Are we too late?" Iris leaned forward from the back, trying to see out Reina's window.

"I don't know."

"It is going to be a fight, either way," Cor said.

It took another minute—one minute of craning and leaning out of the window while Cor looked like he wanted to object—before they caught sight of Galahd.

It was the town that was burning.

And the daemons hadn't set it.

"Are they… burning that house?" Iris' head was just next to Reina's, once Reina sat back down.

"It's not a bad idea," Cor said. "Burn the unnecessary—those people could mostly fit in the diner and store whenever it's safe to sleep."

"Aren't there more of them?" Iris asked.

"Not anymore," Reina said.

The main street was mostly the charcoal remains of indistinguishable buildings, by now, but down near the end, people clustered to throw wood—chairs, tables, the shattered remains of a wardrobe—on a blazing building. Others formed something of a perimeter, holding makeshift weapons as they kept their eyes on the night. Even as Reina watched, one was taken down, screaming, by a daemon that leapt from above.

 _Stupid_. She should have thought of the outskirts before. But their forces were stretched damn thin even as it was and she had little time to think who  _might_ be in danger when thousands of others  _were_ in danger.

"Let's go." Cor turned the wheel sharply as they reached the end of the road, turning ninety degrees and pulling up just a few feet away from the villagers' outer ring.

Reina had her door open before the truck stopped moving. Her boots hit the ground and an axe embedded in the earth beside her; in a flash of blue, Libertus arrived. Ignis and Iris piled out of the truck behind her.

"Cover them—" Reina shouted orders to the Glaives. "Libertus, take the far side. Luca, on the west. Gutsco—start moving them out." No one questioned; no one hesitated.

At the base of the blaze, the villagers turned to watch, climbing to their feet or dropping the fractured furniture on the ground.

"Thank the Gods you've come! I don't think we'd have made it through another night!" The man who approached was ash-streaked and damp through with sweat. He tossed a two-by-four on the pile of wood and dragged his arm across his forehead.

"Save it until we're out. Are there any cars in the town?" Reina asked. Already the air around them was crackling with magic as the Glaives took up the perimeter and pushed the villagers farther in.

"There might be some in the back roads…" He pointed uncertainly.

"Good. Get as many as you can on these trucks while I look."

"Rei—" Iris took a step forward.

"I need you here, Iris. Stay with the trucks. Make sure everyone gets in safe. Ignis will help."

Ignis bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Of course."

Reina moved down the street, off the beaten path and in the direction indicated. She didn't notice until half a block later that Cor was following her.

"You should be helping, too." She didn't stop walking to berate him.

He didn't say a word. He didn't stop following her, either. She didn't have time to start an argument, so she pushed on, past the circle of firelight and onto the back streets.

Everything here was burned, too. The whole village smelled like ash and death. Maybe once it had been a nice place. Maybe once it hadn't been a cemetary.

Reina glanced up and down the street, shining her light in either direction. It was hard to see without even moonlight, but a glint of metal to the south caught her eye. She turned, picking up a half-jog down the street; Cor kept pace with her easily, still silent.

There  _were_  cars here.

There were also daemons.

Black mist rose up from the street in front of them. The fist came first, ahead of an arm twice as tall as Reina, and the monstrosity crawled out of the earth wielding a massive, flaming sword. She slowed a step too late; before she had time to stop, Cor's hand was on her arm, jerking her backward. He pushed her behind him, leaving her rubbing her arm as the daemon rose to its full height: towering four—no, five—times taller than Cor.

"Stay back." He didn't even bother to look at her; he just threw the command at her as he reached for his katana.

Did he think she couldn't protect herself?  _He_ was the one who had trained her. Was he ever going to put some confidence in her?

She summoned her naginata as she stepped to the side, keeping out of Cor's way. If he wanted The Red Giant on his own then she wasn't going to fight him for it. But Imps were creeping from the shadows, as if summoned by their more formidable cousin, and she was almost certain that Cor didn't have eyes on the back of his head and an extra eight arms. Reina took up her stance, with just enough space between her and Cor to swing a polearm in.

An imp leapt at her from across the street. Reina swept her naginata in a wide arc, catching it and the next in one motion. More closed in, but she held them back on her own with a delicate combination of steel and magic. She threw a handful of fire to head off a pair before they reached her, then turned and cut the legs from another. One  _did_ manage to creep close enough to strike at her, but when it did she simply wasn't there, anymore. She took its head off while it was still staring at her blue echo.

But she could only phase if she saw it coming.

Later, she marveled that it hadn't taken her arm off. A blade that size could easily have cut her in half, but through some combination of fortune and sheer, dumb luck, it caught just her shoulder, slicing a neat line across the back of her shirt, singeing her hair and burning her skin.

"Reina—!"

She stumbled forward, clenching her jaw to keep from crying out, and caught herself on her knees. Cor dragged her up by her good arm and wasted precious seconds looking her over to make sure she was whole. Stupid. If he hadn't—

The giant's flaming blade came down once more. Cor shoved her backward, putting himself between her and the daemon. He winced as it caught him—she couldn't see where or how bad—but he stayed on his feet. All that because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Here she was, constantly chafing at the restrictions he tried to place on her, and he was throwing himself in front of death for her.

Cor already had his back to her, again; she could see his coat and shirt torn open along the back and side, still smoldering. Worse than the cut on her shoulder, but  _he_ was still fighting. Reina straightened and called her naginata again. It didn't end this way. She couldn't let him just—

He threw out his arm, catching her across the chest and preventing her from moving any farther forward.

"I will handle this. Get that van." He jerked his head to the side, not taking his eyes off the daemon.

She opened her mouth to tell him to shut up, but stopped herself. He was right. They were out here for a reason and it wasn't just killing daemons. She couldn't afford to be distracted from her purpose while he was dedicating himself wholly to his. She owed him that much.

 _If you get yourself killed for me, Cor, I swear to the Gods… I will drag you back and kill you myself_.

With one last, fleeting glance at him, she threw her naginata and warped across the street, landing just in front of the van. It was old: paint peeling and rust shining through underneath, but she pulled the door open and dropped into the musty front seat. Keys, she decided, were for people who had time. And who didn't have magic.

Just a spark was all it took, though it was harder to use so little when all she had ever done was fry daemons, before. She smelled burning plastic and smoke rose from the steering column before she got it right. On her third try, the engine roared to life.

She hit the gas and had the engine straining before she released the parking brake. Her door swung shut in the jerk of motion that followed and gravel from the road sprayed behind the wheels.

Across the street, Cor was still standing. So, too, was the daemon. Reina swerved in an unruly loop, putting the passenger side toward Cor and the giant as she reached across to shove the door open. The daemon brought its flaming blade down once more, missing Cor by a few inches. The car door wasn't so lucky. Metal crunched against metal; the van lurched right, then back left when the hinges gave way, rocking unsteadily with one less door on the passenger side.

Cor didn't wait for the blade to lift. He skirted the ever-burning sword and dropped into the car, letting his own katana dissolve once more. Not wanting to find out if the rest of the van cut as easily as the door, Reina hit the gas and sent them flying down the street as fast as the rusted engine would take them; it was nothing like a ride in the Regalia, but it had four wheels and it was moving. That was about all she could ask for, at the moment.

Reina watched the Red Giant fade in the mirror. She let out a breath, but her hold on the wheel didn't loosen. They weren't out of Galahd, yet.

"Are you alright?" Cor asked.

She didn't take her eyes off the road. "Better than you."

" _Are you hurt?_ " He repeated, voice taut.

She had never heard him sound like that, before. She hazarded a sideways glance at him and found him staring intently at her.

Gods. He actually  _did_ care, didn't he?

"I'm okay." She dropped her voice and a little bit of the uncertainty underneath rang through. She had almost died. And while that thought didn't scare her, the fact that he  _would have_ died for her did. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said, in what was unmistakably a lie.

She wanted to object, but held her tongue. When everyone was loaded up and on the way back to Lestallum, and only then, could she worry about him.

They had to backtrack to reach the others at the bonfire, but Reina chose to do so on the main road, with the light blazing ahead, rather than trying to pass by the giant a second time. By then, the trucks were packed as full of people as they were likely to get. Luckily, the few that remained would fit in the van.

Luckily.

Lucky that so many people had died and all they had managed to save was a few trucks full.

Reina pulled the car up, inside the circle of light, and let them load up. Cor moved stiffly when he climbed out of the car and, by the firelight, she could see the gash that cut across his lower back and right side. How was he even standing?

"They're all loaded up, Rei." Iris was in front of her before she could wonder any further. "Who do you want in the cabs?"

"Fill them with the refugees—and Cor. The Glaives can drive. I'll take a side." It was a long drive to hold onto the side of a truck, but if the daemons attacked on the road, someone needed to be in the back.

"You will not." Cor wrenched the truck door open—the same one they been in on the way into Galahd—and waved her in. "Get in. I'm driving."

She met his gaze and, once again, held her tongue. She slid into the seat and momentarily found herself sandwiched between Cor and Ignis. There were worse places to be, she supposed; at least she could do something for Cor, if she was sitting right next to him.

"I'll ride in the van," Iris called. "They need an extra blade."

"Thank you, Iris," Reina managed to call around Cor's shoulder before he pulled the door shut.

And they were off, leaving the smoldering remains of Galahd behind them.

Reina shifted so she was half-facing Cor. He was sitting forward to keep his back from pressing up against the seat. It was worse than she had thought. From up close, it looked at least an inch deep—the only reason he  _was_ still standing was because the blade had been on fire when it cut through him. He was burned—the skin on either side of the wound blackened and blistered—but at least he wasn't bleeding. Much.

She pulled cautiously at the edge of his shirt, not wanting to cause any more pain or damage. If the fabric stuck, later, it would—

Cor grabbed her hand. "Heal yourself."

Reina blinked up at him. How could he insist on that when he was so much worse off?

And besides— "I don't have a focus. I can't just heal without something to imbue."

She hadn't even brought water. How had she driven halfway across Lucis without water?

He let go, but pushed her hands away. "Then—worry about yourself."

Was he really going to be a stubborn ass about  _this_?

"Reina, you are hurt?" Ignis' hand touched her arm. Whether he had intended to diffuse the situation or was genuinely only concerned about her, she couldn't tell. But she let him, either way. Otherwise it was going to be a very long drive.

Who was she fooling? Of course he had meant to step in with his care at precisely that moment.


	21. Head to Head

__

######  _19 October, 757:_

Conversation was scarce the whole way back to Lestallum, with Cor still stubbornly refusing Reina's aid, even after Ignis had tied off a bandage around her shoulder. Did he think living with the pain was going to make him tougher? She just wanted to help; sitting idle was driving her mad.

By the time they pulled into Lestallum the sun was rising. The trucks unloaded refugees straight into the mainstreet; they would all need to be sorted out—housing needed to be shuffled, injuries needed to be tended, and rations needed to be distributed—but Reina also needed to make sure Cor was patched up. Even if he was intent on being stubborn, she was still going to do  _something_.

He didn't give her the choice of staying with the refugees, anyway.

"Leville. Now." Cor said, as soon as they were both standing in the street.

"Then you're coming, too." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him. Two could play at this game.

He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but eventually he assented. "Very well."

"Ignis—" Reina turned as he climbed out of the truck behind her.

"I will handle matters, here, Your Highness. I shall meet you back in the Leville, after."

Reina leaned up to give him a kiss, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

"Of course."

Perhaps she had been thrust into a position she had never wanted and never felt prepared for—but she didn't have to do it on her own.

She followed Cor down the street to the Leville. Others passed them, moving in the opposite direction and toward the growing chaos in the city square: a few hunters and Glaives, but mostly civilians—some carrying medical supplies and jugs of water.

Cor was moving more slowly than usual. Reina's shoulder  _still_ hurt; she didn't even want to know what he felt like. But other than that—a certain stiffness of motion—he gave no indication that he was in pain at all. He pushed on, climbing the steps to the Leville with single-minded determination and keeping one eye on her to make sure she was still with him. She didn't try to turn back.

"Will you let me help, now?" Even at this pace, Reina had to skip to catch up with him, but she managed to keep at his heel all the way down the hall toward the kitchen and conference room.

"Have you healed yourself, yet?"

"No—but I will; it won't take very long." Probably.

Weskham was the only person in the kitchen; Cor held the door open and ushered her inside.

"Then do it," he said.

"You both look like hell." Weskham glanced them over once. Reina hadn't seen a mirror, recently, but she was willing to bet it was a fair assessment.

"Put some water on, Wes." Cor dropped onto the bench on the far side of the kitchen table, pulled a knife from his boot, and began methodically cutting away at his ruined coat and shirt. Probably, by now, the fabric had stuck to his skin. If he had let her take care of it in the car, he wouldn't have that problem. The price of being a mule-headed ass, but… well. Perhaps they were alike in that regard.

Reina scoured the cupboards for something to turn into a potion or three—if her brief look at Cor's back was any indicator, he would need something a little stronger. Noct always used to use cans of soda, but soft drinks were more or less an extinct species in Lucis, these days. Anything they couldn't manufacture in Lestallum was bound to go the same way, unless they got the other outposts functioning as anything other than havens.

But, regardless of how long the night stretched, regardless of grim news coming from across the sea, people always found time to brew alcohol. Or they did it  _because_  of those things. Or both. The point was, the kitchen was well stocked with bottled beer.

It seemed more appropriate than water, somehow. Yes, it hadn't gone off as smoothly as she had intended, but the fact was that they  _had_ gotten all the survivors out before Ardyn arrived. And  _she_ had Dreamed it. On purpose.

She took two bottles and a few minutes to let her magic sink in; it was more or less the same way elemancy worked—pulling at the strings of magic and weaving them into something else, something physical so that they remained anchored. It was like an amplifier for power that was otherwise too thin to do any good on its own.

Weskham moved around her, putting a kettle of water on the stove to boil. She distantly registered him moving to sit with Cor, after. By the time she was through with the enchantment—more powerful healing meant more time to set it—Weskham was helping mop up blood and clean the gash that ran full across Cor's back.

Reina opened one bottle and drank as quickly as the carbonation would let her. If Cor wasn't going to let her help until  _she_ was healed, then she wanted it through with. The magic surged through her body, finding broken skin and knitting it back together by pieces. It felt like pins and needles in her shoulder, but she stayed put until she could no longer feel the sting and ache.

"I'm  _fine_ ; are you happy, now?" Reina turned to show her back, tugging at her torn shirt—there was nothing but whole skin beneath the dried blood.

Cor looked up at her. She still couldn't tell what he was thinking, under that face—he always looked like he disapproved. Maybe he did.

"Am I happy?" He didn't leave her wondering for long. That tone, carefully sharpened and quivering beneath the control, was unmistakable.

"Am I happy that, after a year, you still haven't gotten it into your head that you can't be on the front lines  _just because you want to_?"

"Am I happy that—apparently—in the face of danger you forget  _every single thing_  I have ever taught you?" He had never shouted at her before, but with every word he spoke, with every accusation he threw at her, his voice raised further

"What was the point of that debacle in the square last month if you can't even phase when it matters!?" He slammed his fist down on the table. His knife stuck in the wood.

"You are slow, you are clumsy, you are unobservant, and you can't even follow a simple instruction! What part of 'stay back' did you not understand? Should I speak more slowly,  _Your Highness_?"

Reina stood—frozen and wide-eyed—as his usual lecture devolved into an outpouring of ire.

And to think she had been worried about him.

To think she had just wanted to  _help_.

He hadn't even given her the chance to express her gratitude before he tore everything back down.

"Cor—" Weskham tried to get in the middle. Reina didn't let him.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

"Then don't act like a child!"

Reina's jaw tightened.

"I believe—" Weskham tried again, but—

"Are you that impatient for Noctis to get back so you can watch one more king die? Well you can't fucking save him. Just like you couldn't save Father or Grandfather. Hell, you'll probably watch me die, too—but I guess you won't care, since I'm such a  _fucking disappointment_ to you!" Her vision blurred, her fists clenched—potions forgotten—and she shouted straight back at him. "That's me. Reina 'Fuck-Up' Caelum, the one who was never good enough, the one who is so stupid and clumsy that the Gods don't even want me to die for them."

"I'd probably fuck that up too." She backed toward the door—anything to get away from him.

"Reina—" Weskham was on his feet, but Reina had already jerked the door open.

"So yeah. Great. You want this kingdom? Have it! You could handle it better, because you're  _so good_  at listening when people tell you shit!" She ducked into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

She didn't notice until halfway down the hall that her cheeks were wet. It was harder to hold onto the anger, after that, but she didn't give up the fight until she was upstairs with the door shut behind her.

She still had both bottles.

Fuck it. He could suffer, since he wanted to be so stoic. He could ask one of the Glaives; they were so much better at everything, anyway.

How  _dare_ he talk to her like that? How dare he call her a child? How dare he imply she was mentally deficient? How dare he—

Throw every insecurity she ever had in her face.

Remind her she was just a placeholder and that everyone was only waiting for Noctis.

Validate her fears that having no magic made her inferior.

Reina didn't even make it to her bed. She put her back against the wall and slid down to the ground with her knees tucked up under her chin.

She should have been able to phase through that.

She should have been paying attention.

She should have listened.

She should have been better.

She could complain that it was hard all she liked, but it wasn't going to make this go away. So this was what they had to look forward to: nine more years of fumbling around in the dark because the princess was inept. No matter how hard she tried, he was never going to think she was good enough. If she was Noctis—

Noctis was good enough.

The last time they had fought with Cor, he had nothing but praise—so far as that went, from Cor—for Noct. But of course. Had she really expected to live up to that?

She was still sitting on the floor when Ignis came in.

He didn't say a word, just got her cleaned and patched up. By that time she was almost ready to tell him what had happened.

* * *

Weskham didn't say anything. He didn't need to; he just had to sit back down and give Cor that look. It said enough.

Cor made a sound of frustration, wrung out the bloody rag he was holding, and went back to work. This time Wes didn't help. He sat there with his arms crossed, watching, until Cor looked back up at him.

Then: "Would it kill you to say the words: 'I am worried about you'?"

"She shouldn't have—"

"Just answer the question, Cor."

"She doesn't need someone to be  _worried_ about her. She needs someone to teach her how to  _pay attention_."

"Does she also need someone to tell her how poorly she is measuring up?"

"That…" Cor sighed. "That was a mistake."

Shit.

"Indeed. Perhaps you would both be better off if you realized that she can make them, too."

"She can't afford to make mistakes." Cor rinsed the rag out once more and tried to reach across his back without twisting at the waist.

"But she will, regardless. She is only human."

"A mistake from her could cost the whole kingdom. Maybe if she would just admit—"

"You didn't exactly give her the opportunity."

That wasn't true. She had the whole car ride home—four hours of it—and she hadn't said a word but to complain that he wouldn't let her worry about him when she was still…

Worried about him. People didn't worry about people that they hated.

 _Shit_.

Cor dropped the rag back into the basin of water and ran his hands over his face, leaving streaks of blood behind.

"I'm glad you've grasped the situation at last." Weskham stood up. "I would tell you to apologize but… I doubt it will help, anymore. So you'll have to patch yourself up on your own. Since you just shouted your magic potion out of the kitchen with tears streaming down her face."

He left. Cor eventually accepted that he couldn't reach his back and gave up; he probably deserved that, anyway.

By the time the sun set again, a few hours later, he was back in his room—showered, changed, and at least bandaged up—and debating whether or not it was worth it to try and find some painkillers. Eventually he decided against it. Maybe it was harder to fall asleep, this way, but he probably deserved that, too.

He was just dozing off—if he laid on his stomach and didn't move, it was possible—when someone knocked on the door.

Cor groaned. Much as he didn't want to stand up again, he forced himself to sit, ignoring the screaming pain across his back when he did so. It took him a moment to get to the door, though it was directly beside the bed. By the time he did, there was no one standing outside.

But there was a bottle on the floor.

It was the same one Reina had been holding in the kitchen.

* * *

_21 October, 757:_

Galahd. Empty.

That, by itself, was not overly perplexing. But it hadn't been empty two days ago and, amidst the charred remains of the hovel, there were no bodies.

Well.

There were no bodies that hadn't already blackened with scourge.

Ardyn turned a circle in the town square—if it could be called that. Peculiar. Perplexing and, in truth, a little bit disappointing. He  _had_ been intending to see how far along the little Dreamer had come. But it seemed—

He stopped. The night had eyes. Usually they were his, but tonight…

When he turned abruptly, he could just catch a glimmer of blue before it dissolved.

 _Of course_.

He laughed.

So. He had seen how far along she was, after all.

"Are you watching, little Dreamer?" He turned again. Her magic flickered like a flash of lightning, always on the edge of his vision.

"Ahh…  _there_ you are."

It wasn't her physically, in any sense of the word, but it was a knot of energy—felt more than seen. And yet, if she had  _believed_ she was there, he had little doubt that she could have been.

If she'd had a face, he expected it would have looked surprised. Even without one, he could  _feel_ the emotion from her.

"Did you think you merely ghosted through space and time, some sort of incorporeal consciousness? Don't make me laugh. Of  _course_  you're here. It isn't memories you walk through; it's the heart of Eos."

He took a step forward. The knot of energy pulsed and solidified until he  _could_ almost see her.

" _What do you mean?"_

Her voice was not so much in his ears as it was in the world around him. Clever. She  _was_ growing stronger, even if she didn't realize it. Not strong enough, yet, but soon…

"Now, now, princess. You can't expect me to do all of your work for you. Where would be the fun in that?" Ardyn tipped his hat and gave her a mocking bow. "Now run along. I concede; this round is yours. Next time I won't make it so easy."

" _This isn't a_ game _, Gods damn it!"_

"Isn't it?" He replaced his hat. "What do you think we are to your Gods, if not pawns? Think about it, little Dreamer. You are playing their game, whether you want to or not. If you'd like to win, you should learn the rules."

He turned, leaving her with that food for thought, as the darkness swallowed him whole.

_Let us see how she fares with alternate futures._


	22. Sword and Shield

__

######  _19 October - 4 December, 757:_

For the most part, she avoided Cor following the incident in Galahd. Or the incident after Galahd. Or both. The next time she saw him he was walking straight, so he had taken the potion, and he gave her a look like—

Something. Did anyone ever know what he was thinking?

If what he had said was any indication, Reina didn't want to.

She faced him in silence during their training sessions; she wasn't going to be negligent with her training just because they weren't speaking anymore. Especially not when they weren't speaking  _because_ she had been sloppy with her training. So they practiced. She took his laundry list of her flaws and tried to turn them around. Then she practiced with Ignis. Then she practiced with Libertus because no one else knew magic except the Glaives and if she was going to practice with a Glaive at least she would choose one who hadn't literally stabbed anyone in the back.

And when, at the end of the long day, she fell into her bed it was only to Dream.

The future, she discovered, was a many-faceted thing. It was a tangle of paths and choices: some led to the same place, but trying to sort out which ones led where was infuriating and—some nights—impossible.

She could walk the dark roads in her Dreams and follow them to whatever end they led. She could turn around and choose a different route, or jump across to a new one. But try as she might, she couldn't guess which one  _would_ happen. She was forced to admit this was because none of them would—not definitively. Each had some probability associated with them, some choice that would need to be made, and each state of the world had millions of people making millions of choices, each with the possibility of changing the course of the future.

There was no such thing as ' _will happen.'_ If there had been, she would never have been able to change it.

Just now, her main concern was with one man—if he could be called that—and the choices he would make. Those roads were larger, creating grand highways and world-affecting structure, as opposed to the little paths that other choices formed. The future that Ardyn carved was unlikely to be changed by the decisions of anyone else on Eos. He made his own way.

And that way, Reina learned quickly, was twisted and convoluted all on its own. Night by night the paths changed. One night she watched him take Lestallum in a frontal attack that they couldn't possibly defend against. The next she watched him do… absolutely nothing. Some nights the futures shifted right inside her Dreams, one path overtaking another, as if he changed his mind so frequently that it was simply impossible to predict what he would  _actually_ do.

This, she suspected, was  _exactly_ what he was doing.

" _Next time I won't make it so easy,"_ he had said. Was this what he had meant?

Some nights he turned and looked straight at her—though she wasn't there at all—just as he had in Galahd. But he never spoke to her again. She was beginning to wonder if she hadn't imagined that, as well. Could she really tell true dreams from the Sight Dreams? As much as she wanted to claim she could, the truth was she couldn't even tell Dream from reality.

So she wandered in Dreams at night, following the roads that Ardyn crafted for her and watching them shift beneath her feet like snakes. She woke—invariably—tired, frustrated, and no wiser for her time spent dogging him.

Maybe she spent more hours abed these nights, but it didn't feel like it. She was still tired. She still woke hours before the time that would have once been dawn and stood on the balcony outside her room, turning the Ring of the Lucii on her finger.

That first night, when she had Dreamed of Ardyn and escaped the months-long cycle of watching her father's last moments, she had thought it was a blessing—a success to be celebrated. But Ignis had been right.  _She_ was the one who chose her own path, even before had she realized that she could move her feet. It was torture to watch him die, night after night… but at least she could see his face in her Dreams. Now she didn't even have that.

It was a bitter thought and a depressing one. Would she really have preferred to see him die again than to not see him at all?

She traced her finger over the crest on the ring.

And if  _she_ was the one who controlled what she Dreamed—all those years—then the Gods  _didn't_ show her what she needed to see as she had always believed. She wasn't walking some divine path laid before her. She was stumbling along in the dark hoping to make it through until dawn.

Did the Astrals even care when happened on Eos while Noctis slumbered?

"Reina?"

She didn't need to turn to know that Ignis was standing in the doorway. She had gotten better at slipping out without waking him, but he was a light sleeper; invariably he would wake and follow her when he found she was no longer beside him.

"It's early, still," Reina said. He didn't need to be awake at this time; he should have taken what rest he could.

"And yet, I find you awake." She heard the scratch of his cane as he stopped behind her. His hand brushed her back and came to rest on her shoulder.

"My sleep is… troubled."

"He eludes you, still?"

"He's toying with me. That's what he does. Everything is just a game to him."

She still had no concept of where and how Ardyn fit into her family tree—if he was immortal, as Bahamut had said, then it could have been anywhere. He must have been alive for so long that lives were meaningless. He seemed to feel nothing but hatred. Toward whom and for what reason, she wasn't yet certain.

"You work hard enough, Reina. You have accomplished what no one else on Eos could, already. No one would fault you for taking some well-deserved rest."

Reina shut her eyes. "If only I could."

Oh to sleep a Dreamless sleep. If only…

Ignis gripped her shoulder more tightly.

"I need to do something—work out this frustration." She turned to look up at him. "You should go back to sleep."

"Reina—"

"I'll be fine. There's no reason for you to be awake just because I am."

She gave him a kiss and left him to return to bed—though she wasn't certain that he would—and she climbed the stairs to the roof, expecting to find it deserted.

Lestallum was always lit. Even before, the city lights had never seemed to turn off. Now there was good reason for it. Their utility had transformed; no longer were lights expressly for decoration or attraction. Now they were meant to keep the daemons at bay. Great flood lights perched on top of the buildings, bathing the outer perimeter of the city in light. Even with that, hunters and Glaives stood guard all night.

The roof wasn't quite as empty as she had expected.

"Oh, Reina!" Iris sat on the edge, looking out toward the meteor, but she turned to look when Reina opened the door. "What are you doing up here?"

"Much the same as you, I suspect," Reina said.

She hesitated, not stepping closer. What  _she_ was doing was looking for somewhere empty, perhaps with something she could hit—the training room seemed a reasonable second choice. If Iris was actually doing the same, then it only served to reason that she wouldn't want Reina present.

"Come join me, then." Iris patted the rooftop beside her.

Strange. She  _had_ come looking for solitude, and yet she found herself taking Iris' offer anyway. Perhaps because Iris understood what it felt like to bumble around in the dark, uncertain of which path to take. She sat down on the edge, letting her feet hang over beside Iris', and stared out at the meteor.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Iris asked.

"It isn't something I do well, these days."

"I guess it's hard, with all the Dreams, right?"

"They certainly don't make me crave my bed at night."

How long had it been since she last slept— _truly_ slept? It was well over a year since her father had died and Insomnia had fallen.

"At least they have some purpose." Iris kicked her feet, looking down. "Mine are just… there."

"Still the same ones?"

Stupid question. Ghosts didn't really die with time. That was just something everyone else told you to keep you moving your feet so you didn't join the dead.

Iris nodded. "At least… they're not every night, anymore. If Cor knocks me silly in training then I can't dream straight. And I think, maybe—it's stupid, but—I keep thinking I'm only dreaming about Insomnia and Dad because he's not happy with me."

A disturbing thought.

"But since you made me your Shield—I think that helps. I think he'd like to see me doing this," Iris said.

"Of course," Reina said. "He would be proud of you."

"You think they'd have liked to see us together?" Iris kicked her feet over the edge, but looked at Reina. "Since our dads were like brothers and… I guess we're like sisters?"

She made it a question. Reina smiled in spite of herself. "We're like sisters."

She never had gotten a sister. For a few weeks there was Luna, but she spent more time with Noctis, anyway. Iris was just Reina's sister. Just Reina's friend.

Father was always bemoaning the fact that she didn't have any friends but him.

"They would have been happy," Reina said. "Maybe they are."

For a long while they sat in silence, mulling over their own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence. Reina could sit like that with Ignis, as well, but… not right now. He was worried about her and she didn't want to be fussed over. He had more important things to devote that energy to.

"You see the future, now, right? On purpose, I mean." Iris broke the silence, at last.

"I try to."

"Do you know what will happen to all of us…?"

"No." Reina looked down at her feet. She didn't know anything. A million, million variables twisted and turned every second of every day and it was impossible to guess which outcome would be theirs.

Iris was looking at her for some sort of explanation. Reina sighed.

"The future is not linear…" She told Iris of her Dreams, of how they were different each night, sometimes changing mid-night. She dumped out her frustration, her anger at Ardyn, her feelings of complete incompetence at being able to do nothing about it.

"He's playing games and I feel like a pawn," she concluded.

"Maybe you just need more practice," Iris suggested.

Reina looked up at her, brow furrowed.

"Well, you learned to see what you want, right? Maybe there's a way to tell the difference between the futures, and you just haven't learned it, yet."

Reina considered. The Dreams were a tangled knot of snakes, recently. Before, they had been more like rivers or roads. This, she suspected, was Ardyn's doing; whether he had some control over her Dreams or he was intentionally making plans and then abandoning them, she couldn't tell. But the fact was that, ultimately, the real world could only walk down  _one_ path. She just had to find it.

She shook her head; the analogy of a needle in a haystack came to mind. "I just need to hit something really hard."

Iris grinned. "Practice room's probably open, this early—I'll be your punching bag!"

Reina smiled ruefully. "It would never work. I like you too much."

"Mm…" Iris considered, mouth twisting. She pulled out her phone and checked the time, then brightened. "Cor should be awake by now!"

Reina's smile deepend. "You know… that's a wonderful idea. I think I  _would_ like to hit Cor."

* * *

Outside the training room window, the sky was still black. Inside, it was lit by the yellow glow of a few lights strung across the ceiling. Other than that, the room was fairly empty—a rack for practice blades, a wooden bench pushed up against one wall, Cor, and Reina. And, though Cor held his naked blade in hand, Reina had yet to reach for a weapon.

"Do you intend to face me without a weapon?" She had, after all, been the one to request this.

"I intend to prove that I can."

Was that what this was about? Proving herself, after Galahd? They had hardly spoken since that day; Cor couldn't find the words and she had never mentioned it again.

"Very well." Perhaps if she had the chance to prove him wrong, it would settle things between them. But the last thing he wanted was to injure her.

 _I need to stop thinking of her that way,_ Cor scolded himself silently.  _She_ is  _capable of taking care of herself._

He set his stance and lunged, keeping his weight balanced so that he could pull back if necessary. He very nearly did.

Reina didn't move. She gave no indication of reaching for her weapon or shifting her weight to avoid his blade. In fact, she wasn't even looking at him. She had her head turned down, her eyes nearly closed.

But at the last second, when he would have been forced to either abort his attack or run her through, she simply wasn't there anymore.

His blade passed through a blue shadow, while Reina stood a few inches away. It was a disorienting feeling, being on that end of a phase-dodge. It almost felt as if the whole world had moved and Reina had stayed in the same place—as if he had never really been aiming for her at all, but a few inches to her left.

So that was it, then. He had told her she should have been able to phase through that last strike in Galahd and she had taken it to heart. Of course she had. When did she ever disregard criticism? She hated him for it, but she worked all the harder to prove him wrong.

Cor shifted his weight and turned his blade, sweeping left. Again, Reina didn't move, and again his blade cut nothing but a blue shadow while she was suddenly out of reach. She hadn't even changed her stance. She hadn't lifted her head; she didn't even seem to move her legs; she just stood with feet squared while the world changed around her. He had never seen anything like it. When Noctis had trained he had  _moved_. Even Regis, in his youth, had used this phase ability to  _extend_ his own physical abilities, rather than in place of them.

 _Very well_ , Cor thought grimly.

He resettled his grip on his blade. If she wanted to show off then he might as well do the thing properly. He set his mind to the task of hitting her—not inattentive, but determined. It was a mind-numbingly terrifying experience, what with how close she left the gap. Each strike left him certain he was going to kill her, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. A daemon wouldn't give her that benefit. Ardyn wouldn't give her that benefit. And, as much as he wanted to pretend this was for her, he knew he was doing it to assure  _himself_ that she could take whatever Ardyn dished out.

He dedicated every ounce of muscle in his body to maintaining speed; his motions became a constant flow as he convinced himself—slowly but surely—that he wasn't going to kill her. He knew for certain when he had succeeded in cementing the belief. Each time his blade passed harmlessly through air and magic, but as his motions grew faster, Reina did look up.

She dodged actively. Her feet moved across the floor and skipped steps as she reappeared somewhere else. Her whole body flowed in a constant stream of blue shadows.

So she  _did_ need to move. He just hadn't been providing her with a challenge, before.

He pushed himself further, in turn pushing her. The margin for error vanished. If she failed to dodge, he  _would_ hit her because he no longer had the opportunity to pull back. They were running the risk too closely.

 _I should be using a practice sword_ , Cor thought, belatedly. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Probably because she hadn't seen fit to share her plans.

It was harder work for him than for her; he kept up his pace long enough to cause his breath to catch and sweat to bead on his brow. Outside, the sky was turning a less-black pale—it was solidly late-morning, by clock standards.

Sweat trickled down the side of his face. It was going to get in his eyes if he didn't take a moment to dry his forehead. Usually combat wasn't so consistently fast paced; lulls formed between daemons or monsters. Even training had breaks built in. How long had they been going at this?

Cor shifted his stance. He lunged, forcing Reina back, and swiped at his forehead with his off hand, fumbling to wipe sweat from his brow on his sleeve.

At least, he  _thought_ he had forced her back.

Instead she moved to the side. Before Cor had both hands on the hilt of his katana again, she was behind him. The butt of her naginata slammed between his shoulder blades, forcing him forward. Cor stumbled, turned, and lifted his katana again, but Reina was standing there, quite innocuous, as her naginata dissolved from her hands. Was she… smiling?

"Dead," Reina said. "You're losing your touch, Marshal."

Cor sheathed his blade, taking a moment to properly wipe his face on his sleeve while he caught his breath.

"I admit, most of my opponents do not move so quickly," he said.

They stood for a moment, awkward in the silence. This was when he was meant to say something. It was the perfect opportunity; she  _had_ proven him wrong—maybe not in the same situation, and that remained to be seen, but...

"Reina. About Galahd…" What was it Weskham had said? He should apologize.

Actually, what Weskham had said was that it wouldn't make a difference. But hell if he was giving up.

"I know it may not mean anything to you, but… I am sorry for what I said," he said.

"Don't."

"I shouldn't have said what I did, and if I could erase it I would, but I just…" He just what? He just felt afraid and apparently threw his brain out the window when that happened?

"It's fine. You don't have to…" Reina wasn't looking at him, anymore. She was looking at her shoes. "It was stupid, what I did, and you… thanks for saving me."

Cor's brain stuttered again. Weskham hadn't told him what to do if she deflected his apology and thanked him, instead. He didn't deserve to be thanked for that—it should have been taken for granted that he put his life on the line for hers.

"That… is my job, Your Highness."

She looked up at him and he got the immediate impression that this was the wrong thing to say. As usual. She wasn't angry, like she usually was when he fucked up. She was… sad? Disappointed?

"I suppose it is." She sighed and turned toward the door without another word.

She left him standing alone in the training room, wondering if either of them would ever just  _say_ what they meant instead of dancing around it. Later, upstairs after a change of clothes and a tall glass of water, when his brain had stopped buzzing, all words he  _should_ have said occurred to him—just like they always did after it was too late.

He should have told her that he had never seen anyone move like that. He should have told her he was impressed with her progress. He should have told her how proud he was of her.

 _Stupid_ , He thought,  _She doesn't care._


	23. Sacrifice

__

######  _5 December, 757:_

It helped, beating Cor for once. It helped enough that, when the time came, she was ready to rejoin the chase.

And so, in the dark of the long night, she Dreamed.

She chased Ardyn through the twisting paths, fighting to stay at his heels. He was nothing but a wisp of dark fog, but sometimes he turned and looked over his shoulder, smiling at her. Time reached out and grasped at her, like branches snagging her clothes. It wasn't enough that she had to see everything his twisted mind had ever concocted; at the same time, she was forced to see everything she passed by in order to pursue him.

Lucis was still not safe. The Glaives worked, day in and day out through the ever-fading light to bring electricity to the kingdom. Refugees were still trapped outside of safe havens with no way to get through—no transportation, no lights to secure the way. The daemons, with or without Ardyn, could strike anywhere. And they did.

Tonight, a family behind Vesperpool burned the last of their oil while daemons waited outside.

But Ardyn beckoned her on.

" _You can't save them all, little Dreamer_." His voice was in her ears when she faltered, taunting her. It made her wonder who was hunting whom.

 _Don't be stupid_ , Reina thought.  _Of course he's hunting me._

She turned her back on Vesperpool and pursued Ardyn. A king she may not have been, but she still had to make a decision, to push onward and never look back.

But Ardyn was never in only one place. For months he had  _done_ scarcely little, but his future changed constantly—as if every night he made new plans with every intention of following through on them… and then didn't.

Ahead, his path split into three.

Down the center she saw him standing at the Disc of Cauthess. He looked back at her and flashed teeth, " _See me, Dreamer? Here I am, doing nothing at all."_

To the left, a sight that made her blood boil: Ardyn sitting atop her father's throne in Insomnia. He twirled his hat around one finger and hummed a tuneless song.

The last path showed Ardyn in Caem. Most of the people had been evacuated weeks ago, but some hunters remained, holding the port for incoming boats from Tenebrae or on the off-chance that a survivor from Accordo would make it through. Tonight would put an end to that.

Reina woke, shouts and screams still echoing in her head, and sat upright without concern for displacing Ignis. She hadn't meant to wake him—indeed, for a moment she had forgotten he was there at all. Then reality settled back in around her. Ignis stirred. Outside, beneath a black sky, Lestallum's lights flooded the city.

"He's in Caem," she said before Ignis had a chance to ask.

Ignis sat up beside her, pushing unkempt hair from his face. "Ardyn? Are you certain?"

Reina hesitated.  _Was_ she certain? He could just as easily have been in Cauthess or Insomnia, but for some reason she woke feeling certain he was in Caem. Did she only believe it because that was what she had Dreamed last of all, or was there some other reason she had yet to understand?

 _Even if he isn't in Caem, it's better that we go. We_ might  _save lives,_ she reasoned.

But there was a family locked inside a cabin behind Vesperpool, as well.

_If I take the Glaive to Caem, those people die tonight. I might not even save any lives in return. I might not catch Ardyn._

She didn't have enough soldiers to split the force—not if she expected to face Ardyn in Caem. Either they went to Caem and  _potentially_ saved hunters, or they went to Vesperpool and  _definitely_ saved a family.

"Reina?" Ignis' hand touched her shoulder.

 _A king pushes ever onward, accepting the consequences and never looking back_.

"We go to Caem," she said.

* * *

The road to Caem was dark. The power lines that stretched from Lestallum south were repaired and running, but electricity was too scarce to waste on lighting the roads unless there was dire need. Tonight, Reina brought two dozen Glaives with her; she didn't expect to have trouble with stray daemons.

She  _did_ expect to have trouble with the bulk of Ardyn's force.

As far as she could tell, leaving immediately would put them in Caem at the same time as Ardyn, with no space for advance warning. They would face him head on and save as many hunters as they could.

If he was even in Caem.

Perhaps they would arrive and find that he had succeeded once again, that she had deployed a contingent of the Glaive on a Dream that would never come true, that she had sacrificed a Lucian family for nothing.

 _He'll be there_ , she told herself.

To the right of the road, the coast fell away in sharp cliffs. Once, she had camped at the ocean's edge, here, with Noctis and his friends; Noctis had caught too many fish so they had eaten fish for dinner and fish for breakfast. The ocean hadn't seemed so tumultuous, back then.

In the distance they could just see the lights of Caem. With her head out the window, she could just hear—were those screams from her Dream, or here in the real world?

Ignis' hand landed on her knee. "I hear screams.'

Not her imagination.

Reina nearly breathed a sigh of relief. She shouldn't have felt so satisfied that people were fighting for their lives in Caem… but it meant she was right. It meant that family hadn't died for nothing.

But they had died. Or would, soon.

"Pick up the pace, Iris." Reina pushed intrusive thoughts from her mind. Never look back.

"Sure thing, Rei."

Reina leaned forward in her seat. Outside, daemon sightings were growing more frequent; blue fire flashed around the cab of the truck as the Glaives in the back let loose their blades to keep the path clear. Now she could hear the shouting beyond a shadow of a doubt.

By the time they swerved off the road at the Caem turnoff, the night was thick with daemons. Reina threw her door open, knocking one back as it swiped for her, and summoned her naginata.

"Glaives—you know what to do. Getting the hunters out takes priority; just like Galdin. Move out!" She swung her naginata in a wide arc to clear space. Behind her, she heard Ignis slide out of the car and she reached back to grab his hand.

"Is Ardyn here?" Ignis asked, once they stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Yes." She had no way of knowing, beyond what she had Dreamed, but she was certain anyway. He would be waiting up ahead. He was always waiting for her.

"Let me stand beside you." Ignis' voice was quiet; she felt him twist to thrust a dagger into the dark and a glance told her he hit his mark. He was asking her not to do the same thing she had done in Altissia, the last time she had met Ardyn. He was asking her not to send him away.

It was the same thing she had asked for when her father pushed her away for the last time. If she died by Ardyn's hand, after sending Ignis away, would he regret not staying, like she did? She refused to subject anyone else to the life she suffered.

"As you wish," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Until then, she hadn't fully considered what it would mean to bring Iris and Ignis with her. The Glaives, at least, were unlikely to fall on any blades for her. She hadn't expected their lack of loyalty to work in her favor. But Ignis wanted to stand with her as she faced Ardyn. Iris would, as well; at least she had left Cor in Lestallum—Galahd was not something she wanted to repeat. Shield or not, none of them could protect her from Ardyn. And he had no scruples against killing those who tried.

The path up the slope was crawling with daemons; more seemed to flock in by the minute. With no other way to reach the survivors, they cut through.

Reina and Ignis used distance to their advantage. A full swing from her naginata kept most daemons well enough at bay, too far away to do any real damage. At Reina's shoulder, Ignis moved. He had abandoned his cane in favor of her arm and his daggers in favor of throwing knives.

Each knife struck a mark. The daemons fell and Reina pushed forward with Ignis ever at her side.

Beyond the circle that Reina swept clean with her naginata, Iris moved. She picked up stragglers and closed the gap at Reina's back. She moved more like an acrobat than a fighter. Her feet left the ground and landed, instead, on a daemon's crooked shoulders. She balanced as she struck straight down through its skull, her blade still blue from being summoned when it vanished once more. The daemon hadn't even hit the ground before she leapt to her next target.

Clarus would have been proud. But tender words would have to wait—the lighthouse loomed up ahead and, judging by the way the daemons crowded around outside, that was where the survivors were holed up.

It was the only stone building in Caem. Reina might have commended their choice, if it weren't for the fact that they were now trapped inside while their cars were at the street.

"Clear the way!" Reina shouted to the Glaives. "Get them out."

The Kingsglaive converged on the doors and Iris moved with them. She didn't flash or throw fire quite so spectacularly as they did, but she never let something so small as magic get in her way. She took down her fair share of daemons.

All those months of training with Cor had paid off for Iris. For all of them. In Altissia it hadn't felt so right. Now the three of them clicked like puzzle pieces locking into place—not so different from Noctis and his retinue.

"Highness!" Reina turned at a shout from farther down the slope. "There are more hunters out here!"

She glanced at Iris, who stood at the lighthouse. "Get them out."

"Right." Iris nodded, turning back to the door.

"Ignis, with me." Reina grasped his hand and followed the direction of the shout.

The daemons were less thick, through the trees. Ignis' knives caught two before they were even in range of Reina's naginata. They didn't stop moving. Ahead, the sound of fighting grew louder with each passing step.

With Ignis at her shoulder, Reina rounded the corner to the back of a shack—the same repurposed building that had been home to Iris, Talcott, and the others for a few months. Now it was in shambles, windows shattered, floorboards torn up.

Behind it, a handful of Glaives joined half a dozen hunters in their effort to hold back the daemons.

"Damn glad to see you, Your Highness." Dave rammed his knife into a daemon's neck and pulled it free as the beast dissolved in black smoke. "They came outta nowhere. How did you know to find us?"

Before she could respond, a familiar oily voice caused her to turn on the spot. "Why, Princess, you astound me."

The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

The night seemed to solidify; dark mist twisted up and formed a man. Ardyn walked out of the cloud and, for a moment, darkness seemed to spill out of his eyes and mouth. Then that, too, dissolved, and he was nothing but a man once more.

"Here you have this  _gift_  and you haven't even told them." Ardyn moved forward. Each step was slow and deliberate as if he walked to music that only he could hear. And he smirked. He never seemed to stop. "She  _Dreamed_ it. Your little lives were saved on a princess' dream."

"Bayard, get them out." Reina didn't have to shout to her Glaive to be heard; for some reason the sounds of battle had quieted, as if the daemons had stilled for Ardyn's arrival. "We'll meet you by the cars."

She didn't turn to make sure that her orders were followed. She didn't trust Ardyn at her back for one instant.

And Ardyn had eyes only for her. His gaze fixed, single-minded and manic as he stepped forward; in spite of Ignis beside her, in spite of the hunters skirting past them, it felt eerily intimate.

Ignis' grip on her hand tightened.

"You  _did_ Dream it, didn't you, little Dreamer?" Ardyn purred and his voice caused goosebumps to rise across her skin. "That was clever of you. How did you know which path I would take?"

They just needed enough time for the others to reach the cars.

"I felt it," she said. "I saw you in three places; this one was more real."

Ardyn considered her with an unwavering gaze. Then his face broke into a twisted smile. "You really have no idea how you did it, do you?"

He had stopped moving forward. In fact, he seemed to be getting farther away, but his feet weren't moving. The darkness closed in around him, then swallowed him whole.

"All that power at your fingertips and you still have no idea how to use it..." Ardyn's voice was everywhere. It was the darkness, and darkness surrounded them.

Reina twisted around, trying to discern where it was coming from, but to no avail. She could see nothing but distant lights. At least that meant the others had gotten away. It also meant the daemons were gone. Her hand fell away from Ignis' as she turned, wishing momentarily that they had two sets of eyes to look—but it wouldn't have done any good. He was nowhere.

"Tell me, Princess." Ardyn's voice seemed to whisper in her ear, but even when she whipped around to look over her shoulder, he wasn't there. "Have you  _seen_ … this—?"

A blade sprouted from Ignis' chest. Behind shaded glasses his eye widened. His fingers clutched pointlessly at the weapon's tip before it withdrew. Blood welled; his knees buckled.

"Highness…" Ignis gasped.

"Ignis?  _Ignis!_ " Reina caught him as he fell, but she couldn't hold him. They dropped to the ground together, her knees in the dirt, his upper body cradled against her.

She pressed her hand to his chest, but it was like trying to stop a waterfall with a cork. Blood welled hot around her fingers. His hands clutched at her arms as she tried desperately to apply more pressure.

She could make a potion. She groped desperately for something to use—anything at all would work—but Ignis' hands held her too tightly.

"Reina, I—" His voice was tight and drawn, gasping and struggling through the pain. He winced, gritted his teeth, and tried again. "I wish… I could see you..."

Tears welled in her eyes.

She touched his face, smearing blood across his cheek as she pushed his glasses away. If she could have gifted him sight, she would have. If she could have gifted him sight, she would have gifted him life. Instead she had to watch as something disappeared from behind his scarred eye.

"No… no, no,  _no!_ "

His grip on her arms relaxed. He exhaled and didn't inhale again. She could have made a potion, damn it!

But it was too late—too damn late and all she could do was watch him stare, unseeing, up at her as the light faded from his eyes.

It was more than she had been able to give her father.

Ignis looked much the same as him, in the end. She didn't even notice the hot tears spilling down her cheeks until they hit his face. He didn't move. It was hard to appreciate how much a person moved until they didn't. Every tiny reaction, every breath, every twitch. Gone.

He was gone.

Reina removed his glasses fully and passed her hand over his eyes. Tears continued to stream down her face, but a cold emptiness was pouring into the space he had occupied. That was it. The last of her refuges, taken away from her by this Gods damned night. She had nowhere left to hide.

She laid Ignis out on his back and climbed to her feet. Her naginata leapt to her hand, a comforting weight. She shut her eyes and steeled herself. Today it ended. Either she died, or Ardyn did. She couldn't honestly say that she would have preferred that it was him, but—

His voice cut through her thoughts, "Tell me, Princess…" It was everywhere, all around her.

A hand brushed hers. A furrow formed on her brow.

Reina opened her eyes. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, but Ignis wasn't at her feet. He was by her side.

"Have you  _seen_ —"

Her hand closed around his and she jerked him to the side.

"—this?"

And Ardyn's blade found nothing but air where Ignis had been an instant before.


	24. Waking Dream

__

######  _5 December, 757:_

_What._

_The._

_Hell._

Reina stared into Ardyn's face and found the same wide-eyed shock there that she felt, herself. Her eyes flicked toward her free hand. No blood. None on Ignis' face, either. None soaking the front of his shirt, where moments ago there had been a hole. She  _knew_ there had been. She had  _felt_ his final heartbeats.

"That… isn't possible…" Ardyn was frozen, his blade thrust forward still.

She was inclined to believe him.

She had just experienced something before it happened. She had memories of an event that had  _never happened_. She had Dreamed… while awake.

Ardyn's blade vanished. He straightened, looking at her like he had never seen her properly before. It was worse than the twisted smiles and the haunting eyes.

She pulled Ignis behind her and stood so her back pressed to his chest. If Ardyn wanted to find out if she could do that again, he was just going to have to kill her, too. But he didn't want to do that—especially not now that she had showed him a new trick.

"You Dreamed." Ardyn took a step forward. Reina and Ignis took a step back. " _Tell me you Dreamed it!"_

What was she to say? He already knew the truth.

"I Dreamed."

He didn't take another step. He just stared at her with that amazed expression for a long, silent moment before he finally threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, this is rich! You shouldn't be able to do that, Princess." He shook a finger at her, as if reprimanding her for cheating at his game.

Reina said nothing. She kept a vice grip on Ignis' hand and one on her naginata. She could still feel his blood pouring through her fingers. She could still hear the way he gasped out in pain, forcing the words through in spite of it.

"You should only Dream while you're sleeping…" Ardyn leaned forward, putting his face on level with hers, though she had put a few feet between him and her, by then. "Are you asleep, Princess?"

His face split in a grin. Darkness seeped from his mouth, stretching his smile and beyond until it consumed all of him. He dissolved back into the darkness, as if he had never been there at all.

"Are you asleep…?" His voice whispered at her from the night and Reina gave a start, turning but keeping Ignis at her back.

Ardyn was gone.

Was she asleep?

She released her naginata and looked at her hands. No blood, though she had certainly felt it.

How would she ever know? The Dreams and reality were indistinguishable. Were they even in Caem? Had she Dreamed finding him in Caem? Had she Dreamed Dreaming?

"Reina?" Ignis' free arm wrapped around her shoulders and Reina released his hand to clutch at his arm.

"Is this a Dream?" She asked.

"Of course not."

Would he say that if it was a Dream? Would she even think to ask?

"What happened?" Ignis asked when she didn't respond.

When was the last time she had been awake? She couldn't tell.

She couldn't tell.

"I…" Her words caught. She couldn't breathe; try as she might, every gasp left her needing air more than the last.

" _ **Reina.**_ " Ignis turned her in his arms, putting his hands on either side of her face. " _ **Look at me.**_ "

That was how Father sounded when he woke her.

She looked. She looked through his shaded glasses and searched his colorless eye. Even without sight, there was light behind it. Even through the scarring, she thought she caught a glimpse of the green.

He was alive. He was real and solid and when she held onto his arms they were warm and firm.

"You are awake. Do you understand?"

She shut her eyes. Tears spilled over, but they were relief in the aftermath of panic. She nodded, still not trusting her voice.

"You are awake," Ignis repeated as he pulled her against his chest, holding her tight.

She pressed her hands against the front of his shirt and breathed in the smell of coffee and cinnamon. She listened to his heartbeat and  _breathed_.

"Reina?!  _Ignis?_ "

Iris' voice broke through the quiet. Reina straightened, swiping at her cheeks to dry them, and turned in time to watch Iris round the corner of the nearby building.

"Oh, thank the Astrals you're alright! I thought I was going to have to fight off the horde myself!" Iris breathed a sigh, leaning forward to clutch her knees as she caught her breath. "Are you ready to go? Everyone's waiting for you."

"Yes." Reina's voice came out high and strangled. She cleared her throat and tried again. "We're ready."

* * *

What she wanted was to find somewhere quiet to sit with Ignis and convince herself that he was still alive. She would have preferred not to discuss what she had seen, but it was itching inside her, begging to be bled out, so she would tell him.

But Cor didn't care what she wanted.

Had he ever?

Sometimes he would say something or look at her when he thought she couldn't see, and it made her think he really did mean that apology he had given her. But it was easier to believe that he didn't. At least that way they were both on the same page.

So why did he keep trying?

"That was irresponsible and foolish. You cannot simply take the entire Kingsglaive halfway across Lucis in the middle of the night without telling anyone. Being in charge does not give you extra privileges. It gives you extra responsibilities." He wasn't shouting—he had only ever done that once—but each of his words was carefully sharpened before he flung them at her.

Reina clenched her fists, shutting her eyes and turning her head down. She had made a choice. That was what she was meant to do and Cor was never going to accept that she had made the right one, no matter how hard she tried. But the last thing she wanted right now was to deal with another lecture.

She opened her mouth, looking up to tell him as much—

And stopped.

It was dark. Cor and Weskham stood in the alley that led to Lestallum's gate, they were alone. Not even Reina was with them.

"...taken all the Kingsglaive and disappeared to Gods-know-where!" Cor was less restrained with only Weskham to hear him. His hold on his volume slipped as he gestured down the street.

Weskham, on the other hand, stood with his arms crossed and his face drawn. "She is a capable young woman. And with the strength of the Kingsglaive behind her—"

"She could  _still_ be killed!"

Weskham pursed his lips. "You're afraid."

"Of  _course_ I'm afraid—if she dies our hopes go with her. If she dies that's one more Caelum I failed to protect." He rounded on Weskham, who didn't react but to study him with that calculating gaze. Cor made a sound of annoyance and turned back around. "And—Gods damn it—I do not want to lose her. She's stubborn and headstrong, she's cold and closed-off, and she despises everything that I am… but hell if she doesn't remind me every day of Regis and the reasons I pledged my blade to him in the first place."

Cor lowered his head. He stood with his hands clenched at his sides and his back to Weskham. He spoke the next so quietly it was almost inaudible.

" _I_ would be lost without her."

Weskham stepped forward and grasped his shoulder. "You should tell her."

Cor shook his head. "I may never have the chance, now."

"And if she returns?"

Cor hesitated. "I will not tell her I am afraid. She deserves better."

"You should tell her."

"—You have a responsibility to your own safety. You have a responsibility to your people. If you were to fail to return, who would lead them?"

Reina blinked at Cor, looking at him once more through her own eyes—or so she hoped. He was livid; now she saw the fear underneath. Just like how Noctis used to get.

"All this time… and you were really just afraid," she said.

Cor looked as if she had slapped him. Reina felt her frustrations dissolving and she didn't try to hold on to them. Of course he was angry with her; Father had always been angry when he thought she was putting herself in danger, as well. That was the only time Cor lectured her this way, wasn't it?

Had he meant it, when he said she reminded him of her father?

"Weskham was right," Reina said slowly. "You should have just told me; I respect fear more than you might think."

Her mind felt fuzzy; this waking Dream had been less unnerving than the last, but no less bizarre. It left her feeling detached and disoriented, uncertain of where her body connected to her mind.

Cor was still staring at her with his mouth partially open, as if he had meant to say more but had completely forgotten what.

"I'm going to go back to my room with Ignis, now. We're very tired. But I'll see you in a few hours."

He didn't object when she moved to walk past him, pulling Ignis along with her.

She grasped Cor's arm as she passed. "I'm alright. And I don't hate you."

She left him standing there to sort out what had just happened on his own. Later, perhaps, she would have the time to explain. But not right now.

Right now she wanted Ignis.

* * *

The door shut behind her with finality. It shouldn't have been so difficult to walk across Lestallum and shut herself away in her room, but wherever she went a hundred others followed. Libertus wanted to shake her hand. Dave wanted to thank her for the timely rescue. Iris wanted to make sure she was alright—said she looked a bit peaky. Was this how Father had always felt, trying to escape from his councillors? It was a small wonder he had sometimes been short with them.

Reina let out a sigh and put her back against the door.

The whole world seemed to swim around her. She had believed Ignis when he said she was awake, but that had been hours ago and she had Dreamed again, since then. She needed to hear it again.

"Reina…?" Ignis turned and retraced his path back to her.

"I watched you die," she said. Better to get it out now, before she lost her nerve. "Ardyn's sword went right through you… it was just how Father died."

Had Ardyn known? Had he somehow known what vision had haunted her sleep every night until he had taught her to Dream? Surely he couldn't have. He hadn't even been in the Citadel at the time.

Ignis' hands found her. He pulled her away from the door and wrapped her safe in his arms. She shut her eyes and listened to his heartbeat.

 _He's still alive_ , she told herself.

"You Dreamed while you were awake…" Ignis murmured, as he put together pieces. "You saw him strike me before it happened. Then you prevented it."

"I don't know…" Reina buried her face in the front of his shirt. "I don't know what 'awake' is, anymore."

Ignis smoothed his hands over her shoulders and down her back. "This is awake, Reina. We will find some way for you to tell the difference. And if we cannot, then I will always be here to tell you."

She wasn't sure if that made any sense—surely she could be  _told_ she was awake inside a Dream—but she wanted to believe him. She nodded against his chest.

"Now, come with me; it has been an exceedingly long day." He knew where the doorway between her sitting room and bedroom was, even without seeing it, and he pulled her gently in that direction. He didn't need to be able to see to do the things he did, anymore. Whatever he might have believed about his own shortcomings, he  _had_ adapted.

Reina followed. She didn't much feel like sleeping—she didn't trust sleeping—but she couldn't say no to laying down with Ignis for a little while.

His feet shuffled along the floor when he moved; his hand brushed the doorjamb when they passed between rooms. It wasn't the same way he had once moved, or even the way he still moved when she guided him, but she found a certain poetry in his motions, anyway.

Or perhaps she just found reminder that he was still alive in every movement he made.

Reina dropped unceremoniously onto her bed. Ignis was more dignified. He sat on the edge before stretching out on his back beside her, legs crossed and hands folded over his stomach. Reina propped herself on one elbow beside him, studying his face for the first time since he had come back to life. When she removed his glasses and set them aside, he didn't object.

She traced the scars around his eye and smoothed her hand over his cheek. No blood. And even though his eye looked past her instead of at her, there was  _life_ behind it. She never wanted to watch it disappear again.

Her hand moved to his chest. His shirt was dry and clean—or as clean as might be expected, after their excursion to Caem. Beneath her palm, his sternum felt whole and solid. She traced one finger down the line of his buttons and his chest didn't give under the pressure.

No hole. No blood.

She undid the top button on his shirt, then the next—wanting to see, wanting to make  _certain_  that his skin was whole.

"Reina—" Ignis shifted beneath her, but he didn't stop her.

She was halfway down his shirt before she fully realized what she was doing and stopped. Ignis moved his hands off of his stomach, leaving the last buttons unobstructed, but she could feel tension singing through his body. Nervousness or anticipation?

Really, she only needed the first few buttons undone, if she just wanted to check his chest. She glanced down the narrow V of skin beneath his open shirt, at his hand grasping the edge of the bed; his legs uncrossed and one knee tented. His shoes were on her bed but what the hell—so were hers.

She finished unbuttoning his shirt.

Once it lay completely open, she traced her fingers down the middle of his chest, starting at his collarbone and moving to the bottom of his ribcage. Then she pressed her palm fully against his chest and moved back up. He was real and solid, his skin warm and whole.

And there was an awful lot more of it.

She trailed her fingers down the full length of his torso, watching his little reactions to her touch. He released the edge of the beg and grasped her arm instead—not stopping her, just holding on. She caught his hand and stripped his glove off so he could have the same as her: skin against skin. Though, to be fair, he had more for her. Perhaps that could be remedied.

Reina shifted up, putting her elbows on either side of his head and lowered to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling his other glove off behind her back and dragging his hands down her bare arms. Reina caught one hand, drawing it away and leaving it at the edge of her shirt. She leaned back, sitting on her knees and holding his hand in place so he could feel as she stripped off her top.

"Reina—!" If he had been surprised before, he was certainly stunned, now.

She brushed her fingers over his lips before stooping to kiss him. One of his hands had settled at her waist, unmoving, while the other rested across the bed. A shiver ran through his body; she suspected it had nothing to do with the cold. She guided his hand up her waist and across her stomach—a silent invitation. After a moment's hesitation, he took it. His fingers traced patterns over her skin, mapping her body.

Between the shock and amazement, a look of frustration crossed his features.

"I wish I could see you."

Cold shot through her veins. Reina froze.

"Reina…?"

"That's what you said to me." She pressed her palm against his chest, reminding herself again that he was whole. "The last thing you said to me."

He caught her face between his hands and smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks.

"This time," he said, "It is a joyful wish."

He drew her closer and kissed her again. Reina let out a breath; she relaxed into his arms, pressing her chest to his.

 _A joyful wish_ , she repeated.

* * *

_6 December, 757:_

Most days, Cor was up nearly as early as Reina. That hadn't been something that occupied her mind, before, but now, as she stood outside his door and recalled the words he had never meant for her to hear, she wondered if he didn't sleep as little as she did.

She knocked. After a moment, Cor answered, dressed as if he was preparing to leave.

"Your Highness." He looked surprised.

"I owe you an explanation."

"You owe me nothing."

She considered him. He was a peculiar man; once that had only annoyed her, but now that she knew what he was hiding away under his stoic facade, she couldn't find it in her to be irked with him. Everyone had their own quirks. Cor, perhaps, used his to hide what was underneath. He was locked down as tightly as… well… her.

"Nevertheless, I intend to give you one," she said.

Cor was silent for a moment before he stepped aside, motioning her into his room. "Have a seat."

While Reina's room had once been a hotel suite, Cor's had only ever been a single room. It was stripped as bare of furnishings as he could make it, as if he thought having unnecessary decoration or comfort in his room would contradict who he was as a person. Reina was almost inclined to believe him. Cor could have made the most comfortable sofa look awkward just by sitting on it.

The only seat in the room was a rickety wooden chair. Reina took it. Cor sat on the edge of the bed.

"It would seem that I now have waking Dreams," Reina began without preamble. She didn't pause, though he raised his eyebrows at her, because she knew he would want an explanation. "We found Ardyn in Caem. He…"

Her words caught. Even a night with Ignis hadn't erased the images from her memory. They were unsettling enough without the added confusion that she remembered an event that had never happened.

She shut her eyes and took a breath, forcing the words out. "I watched Ardyn kill Ignis."

Cor still looked surprised. She had never seen him look so surprised for so long; usually it faded away after a moment and he was back to that bland expression, but it was just one thing after another with her, that morning.

"I watched Ignis die, but when I opened my eyes he was still standing beside me." Reina ran her hands over her bare arms, aware of the cold from the cracked open window behind her—though it wasn't what caused the chill. "I was able to… pull him out of the way before Ardyn even struck."

Cor didn't say anything, not for a long time. When Reina looked up at him, his brow was furrowed, but he sat still on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap.

At length he spoke, "I thought you only Dreamed while you were asleep."

"So did I. So did Ardyn. He was as surprised as I was—and he said…" Reina held her arms more tightly, fighting the brewing tears as she dropped her gaze. "He said… maybe I  _am_ asleep."

She still couldn't tell. Not for certain. Nothing about sitting in Cor's room felt more real than watching Ignis die had been. They were  _both_ real—but only one had happened. Maybe. Maybe neither of them had.

She heard the creak of the bedsprings, but didn't immediately register Cor approaching her until he draped his coat over her shoulders and dropped to one knee in front of her. He held onto her shoulders and looked up at her.

"I don't know how your Dreams work, but I know they don't sound like a world anyone would want to be trapped in." His voice was low and earnest with none of that harshness she had come to associate with him. "And I could tell you that you are awake, but I can't think of any reason why you should believe me. So I will tell you this: I am more afraid of losing you than anything else. And if these waking Dreams give you the ability to see every blow before it happens, then I admit to taking some selfish joy in the knowledge that you will always know where  _not_ to be."

Reina's eyes widened and a single tear escaped down her cheek. This was a Cor she had never seen before. Not with Weskham, not with her, not in visions she was never meant to see. Was this what happened when he knew she could Dream  _anything_? Had he stopped holding back all the things he believed made him weak?

"You think I can learn to control this?" She asked.

"I  _know_ you can learn to control this. You have learned everything else." He grasped her shoulders more tightly, some of that old familiar fire back in his eyes. He was still earnest and unveiled, but he was also still Cor. "You've learned how to run a kingdom even as it's falling apart. You've become commander of Lucis' meager army. You work with Ignis like it shouldn't be possible to move with a blind man. You phase better than I've ever seen  _any_ Caelum phase. You look through time in your Dreams—why not while you're awake as well?"

Everything—every single word—that she had been craving to hear for more than a year was now tumbling out of his mouth. Had he just been sitting on those all this time? Why had he never said anything, before?

She was too shocked to be angry.

"If this keeps you safe…" Cor dropped his gaze for a moment, as if stopping himself from saying something else. When he looked back up at her, his expression was raw fire—nothing like the restrained look she had come to expect from him. "Will you try?"

Reina nodded numbly.

"Good."

He really was just worried. All those times he shouted at her—told her she was foolish for going to Altissia or for training with Libertus or for Galahd—it was just because of fear.

"Cor…" She extracted one hand from underneath his jacket and gripped his arm. "I'm not going to get myself killed."

She thought of her father and the great dreamless sleep waiting for her, and she dropped her gaze.

"At least," she said, "Not yet."

His fingers dug into her shoulders and she looked up at him. "Don't you dare."

"Not for a long time," she said, but she knew reluctance sounded in her voice.

Cor caught her face in his hands, grip solid, as he looked at her with that tight, unreadable expression. Then he stunned her for the umpteenth time that morning by pulling her into a hug.

Reina very nearly fell out of her chair. She put her feet down hard on the floor to keep her balance and remained frozen, tense against his shoulder for a moment.

"I miss him too," Cor said. "Your father."

She hadn't even been fighting tears before, but suddenly they were streaming down her cheeks. She buried her face in his shoulder, melting as he held her in place.

All that time she had believed he hadn't the slightest idea what was going on inside her head. All that time and she never would have thought that it was the same thing going on inside  _his_ head.


	25. The Regent's Retinue

__

######  _December 757 - February 758:_

When Reina left Cor's room some time later, it was with a certain reluctance. Not necessarily because she wanted to spend time with him now that—after a year and a half of butting heads at every possible moment—they seemed to have found some sort of understanding, but because she was worried that if she walked away all of this would dissolve. Or it would turn out to be a dream.

Neither fear came true.

They met with the others to discuss the events in Caem and Cor's questions sounded more like clarification and less like accusation. It must have been her imagination that he looked different but, regardless, when the meeting adjourned she felt less like a child a more like a queen.

Not that she  _was_  queen.

Still, it was with apprehension that she received Cor's request for a conversation, once the meeting was through. Perhaps he was only saving his criticisms for private, now. But—

"You as well, Ignis," Cor said before Ignis could rise from his seat. Then he caught Iris' eye across the table and nodded to her as well.

Not a private lecture, then. Unless he was going to lecture all of them, but that seemed less likely.

He waited until everyone else had filtered out of the room and the door was shut, leaving just the four of them. Even then, he hesitated a moment. Words, she knew by now, were not his strong point; she waited.

At length, her patience paid off.

"Reina," he said—no more 'Highness'—"There are some matters which should be settled—should really have been settled a year ago—regarding the state of Lucis."

He paused, as if to see if she would interject. When she didn't, he continued, "Thus far we have scraped by with this patchwork government, but if Lucis is to last until the king's return, it would be advisable to come to a more permanent solution."

"What do you suggest?" Reina asked.

"I see no reason not to recreate what we had in Lucis and emulate your father's council. You should be the one to appoint them; that has always been the monarch's privilege."

"I am not—"

"I know," Cor said before she could get the objection out. He almost looked apologetic. "But you would agree that you  _are_ the regent."

She said nothing, because that thought had never crossed her mind before. She always thought of herself as a placeholder; it hadn't occurred to her that there was a proper title for an official placeholder. Somehow, it made her sound a little less extraneous.

In spite of her silence, Cor nodded. "Princess regent, then. Noctis would be pleased to give you the responsibility of choosing a council."

Of course he would have. Noct had never wanted to deal with the particulars of ruling a kingdom.

"Very well." Reina let out a breath, holding tight to the arms of her chair. "Do you have recommendations?"

"Were I you, I would start here." Cor's eyes flicked between Ignis and Iris.

"I don't know anything about ruling a kingdom!" Iris objected.

"Neither does Noctis." Reina shot her a smile before turning back to Cor. "Alright. My royal adviser—" she covered Ignis' hand with her own "—and my Shield will be the first two members of Lucis' new ruling council."

Cor nodded his approval.

"I would have you, as well," she said to him.

The stoic calm disappeared. "Ah—government is not my strong point, You Highness. I was pleased with your father's appointment of marshal."

Reina had to fight a smile at the growing look of panic on his face. "Nevertheless, I would have you on my council. Lucis is changing—has changed. We are more in need of commanders than bureaucrats, in this day and age."

"If… that is what you want, I will do it," Cor said, though she didn't miss the lingering hesitation.

"I do. I need someone at my side who isn't afraid to tell me when I've fucked up." She gave him a little smile, not even laughing at him this time. "I gather that was what first drew Father to you."

Cor dropped his gaze. "I was young and foolish."

"At least one of those things is still true," said Reina.

The look he gave her said he wasn't amused. She knew better.

She considered a moment, in silence, and Cid's words came back to her once more, calling out across time.

" _Friends'll make you stronger."_

Echoing Father—make friends; because she would need them.

An unorthodox retinue it may have been, but she was, after all, an unorthodox ruler. Princess-regent. And besides. They were  _her_ retinue.

"Will you?" She asked. "Stay at my side?"

She wasn't asking about the council. Father had his councillors, but he also had his inner circle—those he could confide in, those he could talk to about anything. If she was going to do this, she would need both as well.

He met her gaze across the table, silent for long enough that she knew he understood.

"Until I draw my last breath," he said.

That was the last of the tension between them dissolved. In the weeks and months that followed, Reina often wondered how it had taken so long—and how she had survived a year and a half of antagonism with him when they were so alike. All they had needed was to see it. One tiny piece of information—known but not given—had torn open the floodgates. After that—after she knew he was just afraid and he knew that she understood—it wasn't so difficult to  _say_ something.

It took the better part of the afternoon to gather together a potential pool of council candidates, and a few days after that to deliver formal requests and get everything squared away. In the end, in addition to Ignis, Iris, and Cor, Reina also chose Monica, Weskham, Cid, Holly, Dave, Sania Yeagre, Camelia Claustra and two of the de facto refugee leaders: Marcia Lythe and Devon Elkton. It was agreed with very little pomp and ceremony that not everyone would be present for every meeting, given the impracticality of travel and the additional responsibilities that everyone now had.

But Lucis had a ruling council once more.

With Dave in Lestallum more often than not, now, and a growing pool of refugees, he began hunter recruitment in earnest. Reina was surprised at how many people enlisted. Then again, the kingdom was under invasion by daemons, hundreds of thousands of people had been displaced, and a great many people were left without fulfilling work.

Reina tested each of the incoming hunters with her magic—it was a shot in the dark that they would find others who were receptive to Caelum magic like the Glaives were, but it was worth the trouble: they did find some.

They had to repurpose the dining room as a training hall. Iris stopped attending as a trainee and started taking on batches of her own. Whenever they were in town, Gladio and Prompto dropped in to lend their expertise. Reina went, along with Ignis, as often as she was able. It was important for people to see her; it was important that they knew their regent wasn't just a faceless name sitting on a throne and ordering them to their deaths. Perhaps she couldn't join them in the field as often as she would have liked—but she always took the time to visit.

Libertus took on training of the new Glaives. Reina stopped by in those sessions, as well; she was pleased to train with someone who could better emulate what she would face the next time she encountered Ardyn. And she held nothing against the new Glaives. Only the traitors and murderers.

Her own sessions with Cor continued, but after a different fashion. She still insisted on training without magic—the ability to phase and throw fire were no substitute for proper martial training, not when her opponent had both—but once Cor was satisfied that she could reliably phase through anything he could throw at her, they explored new avenues.

"How is your control over the waking Dreams?" Cor tested the weight of a wooden practice blade from the rack. They were still upstairs in the original training room, as it was certifiably impossible to find any time during the day when the new training hall was empty. Reina could do without the audience.

"Patchy at best." She watched him warily; he only pulled out a practice blade when he expected to hit her with it. "Usually when I Dream I… it's hard to explain. I suppose I drop out of the physical world into somewhere else. From there I can pass through time like most people pass through space. But when I'm awake it's different. I don't quite have time to  _leave_ this place altogether; I have to just take a peek a few seconds or minutes ahead."

"Is that difficult?"

"It…" She hesitated, catching his gaze and holding it for a moment. They were telling each other things, now; if she expected it from him the least she could do was give the same. "It scares me. Because I can't tell the difference between Dreaming and waking, so if I looked too far or I didn't pull back quite enough I just… wouldn't wake up. I suppose I would keep living on, along some separate timeline and… I would never know it wasn't real until I  _did_ wake up."

There was a whole philosophical discussion waiting to be had, packed in here somewhere. If she couldn't tell the difference, did it really matter whether she was living a Dream? Was it really still a Dream if that was her new baseline?

Thoughts for another time. Or never. Never was good.

"So I have to keep one foot in this time, so to speak, and stick just my head through and then drag myself back," she said.

"But you  _can_ do it."

"I suppose I can, yes."

"So you could see precisely where your opponent was going to strike and then move out of the way," Cor said.

So that was where this was going.

"Theoretically," she said.

He didn't tell her she had to do it. He didn't tell her she wasn't giving enough if she didn't try it. In fact, looking at him now, she felt sure that he would have let her walk away from this without -so much as a comment. He would have understood.

But… if she always knew where not to be, then she would never be hit. If she was never hit she was never harmed, and Cor and everyone else wouldn't have to worry about her any more.

"Alright. Let's do it."

They squared up and took their respective positions. Reina planted her feet firmly in the present and held on as tightly as she could. Then she Dreamed.

Cor gave little warning as he lunged for her, but phasing was a reflex by now. He stopped to give her a reproving look. Ah. She was supposed to be Dreaming.

No.

She  _was_ Dreaming.

She lurched back; the world stuttered and Cor lunged for her, exactly as he had the first time. She just barely had enough time to get out of the way. That time. The second time he whacked her collar bone. Pain shot down her arm and up her neck; she phased out of the way for the next pass.

"You're supposed to be Dreaming." He swung for her again and she phased again.

"I  _know!_ " But it was hard to fight the reflex to phase when he was coming straight at her.

Cor paused, sword held loosely at his side. "I  _know_ you can do this. And you did—the first time. What changed?"

"I need more time in between." Which didn't make sense, because she could look ahead and come back without having used up a single second. "I can't just get grounded and Dream again that fast, and when I panic I just phase."

"There are worse reflexes to have," Cor said. "But if you need more time then we slow down. No need to run before you walk."

Reina took a deep breath and nodded. She rubbed her collar bone where he had hit her and winced on contact.

"Sorry for that. Are you alright?" He asked.

"I'm sure the whole front of my shoulder will be a rainbow of colors in a few days, but no lasting damage done." She smiled in spite of herself. If someone had told her a few months ago that she would ever walk out of a training session with Cor feeling better about herself, she would have laughed in their face. And yet. "Let's go again."

They worked, finding the right pace through trial and error, until Iris dragged them downstairs for dinner. By that time they were both thoroughly done in, but too stubborn to admit it. It was a good thing Iris was around.

"Tomorrow," Cor said as he dragged a clean towel over the back of his neck and waved Reina out of the training room ahead of him, "We move faster."

Reina only nodded, because she was too thirsty to make her voice work.

"Yup. Sure looks like you two weren't working hard enough. Better crank up the heat." Iris rolled her eyes. Reina smiled. So did Cor, much as he tried to hide it.

Only Ignis was in the kitchen when they arrived—by the clock on the wall, it was well after nine—but the pot of stew on the stove was still bubbling.

"Your Highness." He rose from his seat. "Marshal. Straight out of training, if my nose doesn't deceive me."

"Ignis, shame on you!" Iris said. "A princess doesn't sweat."

"Her Highness may not, but I fear the Marshal has no such privileges."

"I hear a broken nose will fix that." Cor served himself a bowl of soup and sat down—Reina noted—as far away from Ignis as possible.

"Having already been deprived of one sense, I would thank you not to try removing any of the others."

"I'm beginning to regret the decision to convert the dining room into a training hall." Reina sat down near Ignis—though not right next to him, because regardless of whether or not princesses were permitted to sweat, she certainly didn't smell like a flower—and across from Iris once she had her bowl.

"Because then we could put Cor on the other side of the room and not have to smell him?" Iris asked.

"Because then  _I_ could sit on the other side of the room and not have to listen," Reina said.

From the way Iris caught her eye across the table and shot her a grin, she knew: she wasn't fooling anyone.

"In all seriousness," Ignis said, "With the growing population inside the Leville, it  _would_ behoove us to have a larger dining area. I believe there are one or two adjacent, ground-level rooms here—" he pointed over his shoulder toward the left side of the kitchen "—and we might knock through a wall or two and have them combined."

Reina nodded through a bite of soup. "Put it on the to-do list; we have people with the construction expertise."

"Of course," Ignis said. "Though it may have to wait until the new housing block has finished construction."

"That takes precedence. We can—"

"Hey," Iris said. " _Hey!_  What did we say? No working at the dinner table!"

Ignis lifted his hands. "Apologies."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments. Cor  _did_ smell. Reina didn't tell him.

Then: "The soup has been getting thinner," Cor noted.

"Indeed," said Ignis. "I fear the Glaives have been scraping the bottom of the barrel on salvage missions. We  _are_ a year and a half in and all canning facilities have shut down."

"With the daylight hours dwindling further every day," said Cor.

"Can't we still hunt?" Iris asked.

"To a degree," said Ignis. "But it would seem that the beasts outside are also becoming corrupted… and I should not like to find out what that tastes like."

"Then we have to find some way to grow food," said Iris. "Like a greenhouse—but with lights."

Reina nodded. "The question is where to put it—safe land is becoming scarce."

"Well," Iris said, "There's all that space up by the power plant—they're not actually using it, and— _damn it_ , now you've got me doing it!"

Reina hid a smile behind her hand. It had taken her long enough to notice.

"A bad influence is what you are," Iris said. "All of you!"

No one contradicted her.


	26. Longer Nights, Brighter Lights

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######  _February - August 758:_

That day in Caem, when she first Dreamed while awake, marked the first day of a year she would later look back on with longing. For the first time in what felt like years, life fell into a comfortable routine. Reina's schedule was still so packed full that she couldn't have fit an extra sheet of paper in it, but there was comfort to be found in regularity.

In the mornings she joined Iris and the hunters in training. It wasn't long before she knew most of the trainees by name, but there was always a steady influx of newcomers. After trainings, the council met—or as much of the council as was present in Lestallum at the time. They pushed forward construction on new housing units, had the walls between rooms knocked out in the Leville to make a new dining hall, and started plans for an indoor farm—hopefully the first of many.

As the population of the other outposts grew, they discussed more permanent ways to keep people safe. The Oracle's wards had long since begun waning and no one was keen to trust so many lives to a few flood lights. They calculated the cost in supplies and labor to build walls. In the meantime, people holed up inside the largest buildings in each outpost—warehouses and garages, mostly.

She made certain to be seen, as well. Everyone else on her council had their separate duties, but Reina might have spent an entire year inside the Leville and missed very little—much as she wanted to, she was forced to agree with Cor and admit that she should  _not_ be going on missions with the hunters and Glaives. So she took some time—as much as she could afford each week—to walk through the city, to speak with the refugees and assure her people that this was all according to the Gods' plans, that the king would return and bring the sun back.

In the evenings, training with Cor proceeded apace. He pushed her, as he always did, even when she insisted she couldn't possibly Dream any faster; he was usually right. She still earned her fair share of bruises from his practice blade—especially right after he stepped up the pace—but for the most part she succeeded in Dreaming to evade rather than phasing. Cor worried that this training would kill her phase reflexes. He squeezed in extra morning practice for that.

If she had an ounce of energy left after Cor was through with her, she spent it with Ignis. He was excelling without her aid, these days; he no longer lingered uncertainly in unfamiliar space, he rarely needed help, and he carried out his own responsibilities—which he had once insisted he would never be able to do again—without any trouble. He cooked regularly. He stopped wearing the shaded glasses.

She still missed Noctis; she still felt an uncomfortable lurch whenever she thought of him because, though she knew he wasn't gone, yet, he would be as soon as she had a chance to say goodbye. She still had a great empty hole in her chest where her father used to be. She still slept poorly and slipped out most nights to stand in the open air and stare at the Ring of the Lucii, wishing it would bring him back to her again.

But it wasn't to be. This was the path the Gods had forged for her and she would follow it as faithfully as she was able. As her father had done his duty to Lucis, as Noctis would do his, so, too, would Reina. They all had a part to play in the greater design.

She just wasn't sure what it was, yet.

In the meantime, she tried to find some good in the world.

Sometimes she was successful; Iris was like the sister she had never had, Ignis was the partner she had never known she needed, Cor was the mentor she had been craving for years, and when they were all together Lestallum felt a little less foreign. A little less empty. It would never be Insomnia, but humans were extraordinarily good at adapting.

Sometimes she was less successful; Ardyn was absent from her Dreams, again, and his silence made her uneasy, the daylight was fading rapidly, Lestallum's plant was struggling to produce enough power to light Lucis for twenty-three hours every day, and some people had begun to contract the Starscourge.

It did nothing to improve her sleep habits. Some nights she lay awake staring at the ceiling because she didn't have the heart to wake Ignis. Other nights she did wake him—whether on purpose or by accident—and somehow he was always graciously willing to listen to her recount the same frustrations night after night. On the off chance that she slipped out of bed without disturbing him, she prowled the halls of the Leville restlessly, or made her way to the roof.

Sometimes she wasn't the only one, sleepless and searching for answers in the light of the meteor.

It was practically tradition, by now, to sit atop the Leville, feet dangling, and look out over Lucis with Iris. They didn't always speak, but sometimes…

"I thought about what you said," Iris said. "About maybe they're watching over us. I guess I never thought much about it—we know the old kings are still here, but what happens to everyone else?"

"The Cosmogony suggests there is an afterlife."

"Do they see us?"

"I don't know," Reina admitted.

Iris fell silent for a moment, holding onto the edge of the Leville and kicking her feet discontentedly.

Then: "I wish I could see him just once more. Like you saw the king when you first put on the ring."

Reina looked down at her hand. The ring was still inert after nearly two years. She still hadn't seen him again, hadn't heard from him save that one instant in Altissia, which she was now certain she had imagined.

"Don't," Reina said.

"Huh?"

"It's a bad thing to wish for. I thought it would be everything—just once more and I could tie off all the loose ends and say goodbye properly; I could hear him tell me he was proud of me just one more time and that would be enough. But it wasn't. It isn't. And you have that one minute and you just want  _more_  and it strings you along with hollow hopes until your mind starts playing tricks on you and you can't tell if it's his voice or just the ghosts that are still haunting you." She pulled her eyes from the ring and looked up at Iris. "If I had never put on the ring… maybe I would have been able to accept he was gone. Now all I can think is that he's just right outside my grasp and if I  _reach_ a little farther then I can touch him. Just one more time."

Iris stared at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Reina shook her head. "I know I'm just a hypocrite because, looking back, if I had the choice not to put it on knowing what would happen… I would still do the same thing every time. But take it as a cautionary tale. You should be better than that; you should do what I never could: find your peace  _here_. Hold onto this life and everything in it, and just  _know_ —know for yourself, without needing to hear anyone else say it—that of course he's proud of you; you're worth it; you've  _made it_."

After a stunned moment, Iris pulled Reina into a sideway hug.

"You're right," she said. "And you know what else? You can still do it, too."

"I don't know if I can," Reina said.

"You can. I know."

Neither of them mentioned that conversation for months after. But sometimes, when one of them caught the other staring off into the night with that faraway look, she would just give her a nudge. And a smile.

And they carried on.

One morning, halfway through that year of comfortable schedules and genial friendships, Reina woke knowing it would be the last time anyone saw the sun for eight years. They gathered in the square near noon, looking skyward—refugees and Lucians, hunters and Glaives, elders and children, laborers and administrators—and held their breath as the sky paled. It wasn't really dawn, in the most traditional sense.

"I've been studying it, you see." Sania's voice, an eager whisper, was the only one in the whole city. "And I believe the darkness is caused by a sort of  _photophobic_ plasmodium—the same one that causes the evident mutation of wildlife across Eos!—so the sun is, of course, not gone at all; its light is merely blocked out by the overabundance of bacteria in the air."

"Dr Yeager—"

"This plasmodium—the Starscourge, as you call it—is—"

" _Dr Yeager_." Reina applied liberal emphasis and a healthy dose of that look Father used to shoot at people to get them to shut up.

It worked surprisingly well.

"Later," Reina said.

"Ah. Yes. Later. Of course."

At the highest point in the sky, the sun broke through the black mist that shrouded Eos and shone down on them for the last time. No one spoke. No one moved. They stood, soaking it up—some with hands outstretched and sleeves rolled up to gather as much light as they could—in thick silence.

The last day on Eos lasted for little more than a minute.

Then the sun was swallowed up by the black sky once more, reduced to a greenish glow of light, not even as bright as the moon had been—back during the days when they could still see the moon.

Murmurs broke out among the crowd. The stillness shattered. People turned to their friends and their family, their neighbors, and uttered the same phrase in varying forms:

"We'll never see the light again."

It was a doubt that Reina couldn't afford to let stand. While it spread like poison through her people, hope would dwindle. And their hope was the only thing that would sustain them until dawn.

She stepped forward toward the edge of the crowd. There was still scaffolding in place from construction of Lestallum's outer wall—such as it was, for the time being—and she climbed three steps up on the ladder and braced herself, standing backward to look out over them.

"Lucians." Her voice carried well—one of the skills she had picked up from her father. "People of Eos. This  _is_ the start of a long night but it will not last forever. The Gods have been planning for this moment for generations; every day we survive in this long night brings us one day closer to the dawn. For the king  _will_ return. And he will bring with him the amassed power of the Astrals and enough strength to push back the darkness once and for all. He will chase away the daemons and bring back the sun. This is the reason he was chosen by the crystal. This is the purpose that my family has been preparing for since the Founder King first wore the Ring of the Lucii. King Noctis  _will_ defeat the Starscourge. And in the meantime, know that the Gods are watching over you."

Even as the words left her mouth, she doubted them. How many times had she faced down death in the past two years with no hint to divine intervention? If they meant for her to hold back the dark while Noctis slumbered… wouldn't they have interceded while Ardyn crushed the air from her windpipe in Altissia? Wouldn't they have halted the giant's blade in Galahd? Wouldn't they have spared Ignis in Caem?

But of course. She  _had_ survived those encounters. The gods had disuaged Ardyn from killing her, had sent Cor to divert the killing blow, had given her the waking Dream to keep Ignis safe.

Yes. That must have been so.

Her hesitation only manifested as a pause. It worked in her favor as she gathered her thoughts, pushed her own doubts aside, and forced herself to continue.

"So think of this not as the last dawn; think of this as one day closer to the king's return."

In the upturned faces, Reina could still see fear, still see worry—but now there was hope, as well. She dropped down from the ladder and the crowd parted for her, though many reached out just to touch her. She extended her hands to either side, letting as many reach her as possible. Cor didn't stop them—though she noted he fell into step a little closer behind her as she moved through. The murmurs that ran among the people, now, were less doubtful. Her words had the effect she needed.

Even if she wasn't sure they were true.

She climbed the steps to the Leville, Cor keeping tight at her heel until they were out of the crowd. She glanced once more over the crowd before disappearing inside. Then she let out a breath, out of the public eye, and let her mask slip.

What was it Ardyn had said?

" _Your Gods are cruel masters."_

As he pressed the staff of her naginata against her throat, threatening to cut off her supply of air. Had it really been divine intervention that he decided to toy with her rather than kill her all at once? Everything she knew about him said it was entirely within his character to make that choice. No Gods required.

In Galahd, could Cor's actions really be attributed to the Gods, either? It almost seemed belittling to  _his_ sacrifice to believe that They had made it so. That he would always throw himself between her and danger she had little doubt. The Gods didn't need to do that. Even if they had… could she ever condone someone—even an Astral—making the choice to sacrifice  _someone else_ in her stead?

And her Dreams? For twenty years she had believed the Gods sent them, that They showed her what she needed to see… but  _she_ controlled her Dreams.  _She_ chose what to see. No other Caelum had that ability, so far as she knew—except, perhaps, Ardyn. He was the only other one who seemed to know anything about them. And he was also decidedly  _not_ on the same side as the Gods.

She shook her head to jar the doubts free. It wasn't her place to question the plans the Gods had made. They knew more—saw more—than she could ever hope to.

"Reina?"

She didn't notice she had stopped walking in the Leville lobby until Cor came up behind her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing," she said.

Cor folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her. "And here I thought we were being honest with each other, these days."

She smiled. "I'm sorry. You're right. I just… can't help but wonder if I'm not just lying to them."

"How do you mean?"

"I  _know_ Noctis will come back—I've Dreamed it. But sometimes I wonder if the Gods aren't looking out for us at all."

He considered her for a moment, fixing her with that stony stare that had once irked her so much. Then: "Does it really matter?"

"What?"

"I can't answer some deep theological question for you; I'd say you are the only one who can come to a conclusion for yourself. But when you stand in front of those people and tell them the Gods are watching over them… they believed you, Reina. And at that point, the truth makes little difference. What matters is hope and belief. The Gods won't get them through this. But you might." He grasped her shoulder firmly. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she only squeezed his arm in return.

"Come on," he said, "If you think you're getting out of training just because the sun is gone, you've got some more serious truth-seeking to do."


	27. Harmony

 

######  _August - December 758:_

Lestallum finished construction on the indoor farm. No sooner were the plants growing than they had plans for five more across Lucis. It would increase the strain on their only power plant, but with dwindling food options and increasingly corrupt beasts outside the outposts, it was a tradeoff everyone was willing to make. In return, the Glaives were instructed to actively search for meteorshards while they were outside of city limits. Holly had calculated that, with the Glaives' current level of input, they would be able to sustain all six farms and still light the outposts.

Exactly what would happen when they, inevitably, had to build more was a bridge they were still debating.

Walls went up around every outpost, turning refugee camps into true havens—little settlements dotted across Lucis, forming islands of light and safety amidst the endless dark of the unnatural night. Lestallum's was finished first—a real wall built around the city perimeter with proper gates on either edge where the road passed through. The makeshift wall was dismantled; they needed the extra space for more housing. After Lestallum they moved down the list, giving precedence to those places with the largest population: Old Lestallum, Cauthess Depot, Meldacio, and the Norduscaen Garrison.

People were spread across more than just those, but it would take years to have walls around every outpost. Galdin, especially, was a growing concern. They had power—for the moment—but it wasn't exactly a defensible location. Hard as she and the others had tried to encourage its abandonment, the Galdin natives were loath to do so. So they holed up and waited, holding the port open, for whatever little good that did, and providing a slow but steady stream of fish—which was about the only consistently safe source of meat.

So they made a start on the walls and hoped for the best where everyone else was concerned. The materials were mined easily enough north of Meldacio and the labor could be sourced to the civilians. In return, they were guaranteed a warm place to sleep and three meals a day. Most people across Lucis were leaping at the opportunity, by now. It was just as well. They needed every last pair of hands to tend crops and build walls if they were making it through the night alive.

Daemon attacks were not infrequent, but they weren't as organized as those on Altissia and Caem had been. Ardyn hadn't planned an invasion in well over over eight months. Whenever Reina tried to Dream his whereabouts, she found him in Insomnia, sitting on Father's throne and humming to himself. That worried her more than the organized attacks did. Then again, worrying her was probably what he was aiming for.

At the very least, she could Dream the daemons' movements and head off those attacks as often as possible—or issue some warning. It proved useful—even necessary—on more than one occasion. Though their defensive force was growing, there weren't enough hunters and Glaives in Lucis, still, to protect everyone all at once. But Reina's Dreams ensured that enough people were in the right place at the right time whenever disaster threatened.

She Dreamed of Galdin overrun and had the Glaive across the continent with time to spare. She Dreamed of a family stranded in Leide and had them brought safely into Hammerhead. She Dreamed of rogue magitek armor and had it properly decommissioned before it could cause any trouble.

Throughout, she was more or less confined to Lestallum. However much she had chafed under the restrictions Cor tried to place on her before, she couldn't deny that he had a point. She would go where she was most needed, and just now that was Lestallum. That did mean, however, that she had yet to give her new waking Dreams a field test. No matter how hard Cor pushed her, he could never imitate a dozen daemons all leaping at once.

Perhaps that was why he changed his mind.

The Glaives had just returned with a surplus of canned goods—a diminishing luxury, these days. Crops from the hot houses were only just beginning to come in, and then only the faster growing ones. No matter how much spinach they grew, it was never going to feed the whole kingdom. They needed whatever canned food they could salvage—and they needed it distributed.

The convoy was slated to leave the following day, but Reina Dreamed. She watched daemons scatter and destroy precious resources before they had any chance of reaching their destination. They lost half a dozen hunters and all the drivers before backup could arrive.

Or they would have, if the trucks left without more protection.

"One squad of Glaives should be able to cover the cars alongside the hunters," Reina said, crunching numbers in her head. Whatever she thought of them, she couldn't deny that the Glaives  _were_ useful—one was worth a dozen hunters.

"I have a counter suggestion." Cor leaned against the door frame of the council room—no one ever took the time to sit down during these impromptu meetings. "We go ourselves. Provided that you believe the four of us are equal to four Glaives."

Reina raised her eyebrows at him. If he was going to suggest  _not_ sitting around in Lestallum for once she wasn't going to object, but she couldn't remember if he had ever referred to her unconventional retinue as an 'us' before. It sounded nice, now that she thought about it.

She glanced at the others. "Iris?"

"Uh,  _yeah_. Obviously."

"Ignis?"

"I believe I have sufficient elemental flasks remaining from the last batch you created."

That was, Reina guessed, an affirmative. She looked back to Cor. "We can handle the convoy.  _If_ you don't get in my way."

"Then get out of the way, yourself, and I won't have to."

He might have fooled anyone into thinking he was serious. He never did smile; he practically only had the one expression—stony with a furrowed brow and moderate to strong disapproval. But his voice didn't hold any venom.

Reina smiled, because he didn't, and lead the way out of the room.

"Don't forget to phase!" Cor called as he turned to follow.

"I never forget to phase. I only choose not to."

"What is this from, then?" He squeezed her upper arm, right where he had left a colorful bruise two days ago.

"A  _poor_ choice." She jerked her arm away. "And that  _hurt_."

"It wouldn't hurt it you were faster."

"Are you two going to do this the whole way?" Iris' voice drifted down the hall from behind. "Because I'm starting to think falling off the caravan isn't such a bad idea."

"He's  _harassing_ me! Aren't you supposed to protect me from that?" Reina called over her shoulder.

"There are some things I just can't do anything about."

"Or do not care to," Ignis added.

Iris was right. It was going to go on forever. But she was also wrong.

It was only going to make the trip shorter.

The trucks were already loaded and ready to go. After a brief conference to put everyone on the same page, Reina and the others joined those hunters already assigned to protect the convoy. They rolled out of Lestallum wedged between crates of cans in the bed of a truck. The first leg of the trip was uneventful—the daemons wouldn't strike until they hit Duscae—and Reina spent it with her head tipped back against the cab of the truck, listening to banter from the others.

Her  _friends_.

It was still a little strange to think of. She had ridden countless miles in the back of the Regalia with Noct's friends flinging insults and puns around her and never felt anything but apart from them. Even before, whatever friends she had made in school, she had promptly lost in favor of her father.

_I wish you could see me, Father_.

He would have been so pleased.

"Reina."

Cor nudged her boot and she looked where he looked—dark mist rising in tendrils beside the road. That was the precursor. Were they really in Duscae already? They must have been—though it was difficult to tell, when the only lights out here were headlights.

She climbed to her feet, watching the mist as they passed it by. The truck screeched to a halt and Reina lurched forward, catching herself on a pile of crates.

"I suspect that means company," Ignis said.

Ahead, she could just make out silhouetted shapes of clawed creatures in the road. She pulled Ignis to his feet, letting him orient himself before she moved again.

"Let's go." She vaulted over the side of the truck with Ignis as her shadow. They rejoined on the street, hand in hand, and drew steel.

Reina was already moving down the street when Cor and Iris hit the ground. The majority of the daemons were at the head of the convoy, so that was where she went. The half-dozen hunters she sent to the rear.

"Watch the sides. I don't like the look of that mist," Reina called, never stopping.

They reached the front of the first truck just as the daemons did. Reina lunged first, releasing Ignis' hand to give herself more leverage on her naginata. His fingers brushed across her back as he stepped behind her—never in the way. Her blade struck true, slicing the first daemon neatly in two for a split second. Then it dissolved, leaving nothing but black mist.

She moved for the next one as Cor and Iris moved past her, taking either side. She knocked one aside with the blunt end of her staff and Ignis finished it off while she took down another. To the right of the trucks, Iris diverted a group up and toward the front.

"Incoming—" Ignis lobbed a flask. When it shattered in their midst, the daemons were little more than ice sculptures.

It never ceased to amaze her how he could aim without ever seeing his target.

No time to marvel at it, now. More were moving in from ahead; Reina threw a handful of lightning, which arced from daemon to daemon. Most dropped. A few persisted. She Dreamed as they advanced, glancing into the future just a few seconds—enough to see where they struck before they did.

She pulled Ignis behind her as one snapped at him, keeping him at her left as she cut its head off. The next one she phased through before Ignis' dagger was buried in its neck.

"On the left," Cor called.

Ignis moved at the same time she did, hardly needing her direction. When they came to stand beside Cor, shoring up the line, he didn't tell them to stay back. He didn't even give Reina that cautionary look—he just kept his eyes fixed ahead as the dark of the earth opened up and more of the beasts crawled out, as if from below.

Reina threw ice. It ate up their feet, freezing some solid. Cor moved forward, Ignis' daggers whizzing past his shoulder, and cut down daemon after daemon as they struggled to free themselves.

Reina held back, turning her gaze up and down the line of trucks. Ahead, the road was clear. Behind, the hunters were engaged, but not out of their depth.

"How's that side looking, Iris?" Reina called.

Iris didn't answer. But she did launch off the roof of the truck directly behind Reina and land beside Cor, ducking in time to miss his blade. He gave  _her_ that cautionary look.

"Did you miss me?" Iris asked.

"It was a struggle every moment you were gone." Reina moved up with Ignis, joining the fray. "Aren't you supposed to be protecting me?"

"Psh. You don't need protecting," Iris said.

"That is how it is meant to appear, if you do your job properly," Cor said.

Iris was busy pulling her katana free from a daemon, but she shot Cor a quizzical look when she had a second to do so. "That was almost complimentary."

"Don't get used to it," he said.

Reina heard her laughter, even as the last of the imps squealed and faded away, leaving no bodies behind.

"Stay sharp—" Of the four of them, it was Ignis who first turned toward the front of the convoy as the road blackened like a pool of ink. How had he even…  _heard_ that?

A flaming sword emerged.

"Don't get hit, this time." Cor brushed past her.

"Don't do anything heroic!" She retorted.

"That's my job," Cor said.

"That's  _my_ job," Iris said.

"I would venture as to suggest that it is  _all_ of our jobs," Ignis said.

Reina rolled her eyes. "Just kill it and don't die."

The time for conversation came to an end with the first earth-shaking blow, which split their party down the middle. That was their cue to begin in earnest.

Ignis' flask of ice froze a long patch across the giant's back and shoulder. Cor and Iris dove in, aiming for the backs of its legs; Cor moved swiftly—decisively—Iris moved like an acrobat, dancing in and out and around. And Reina Dreamed.

She let go of Ignis' hand with the certainty that he wouldn't get hit and she threw her naginata. It stuck in the daemon's shoulder while she came hurtling after, just a streak of blue before she climbed on top. The giant swiped at her with its empty hand. Reina ducked without phasing and thrust her naginata into the darkness inside its helmet where two eyes glowed.

Below, Cor launched Iris high enough to cut cleanly through one hamstring and force the daemon to one knee. Reina lurched. She caught hold of one of its spiky horns to keep her balance.

"Reina?" Ignis called.

"Here."

His daggers flew, landing one after another directly where she had struck before. After came a flask. Ice shattered across the daemon's face, creeping beneath Reina's feet and across both of its shoulders. Reina warped back to the ground before the black mist began to rise up from it. It sublimated from the center out, leaving a shell, a burning blade, then nothing at all.

"Nice shot, Ignis!" Iris cheered.

"Come now, it's nothing special."

"There's nothing more attractive than false modesty." Reina grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss.

"Ew, get a room," Iris said.

"We have one." Reina turned to smile at her.

"Not right now, you don't. We have work to do." Cor banished his blade and ushered the lot of them back toward the trucks. "We're not even to Old Lestallum."

It was the first of several skirmishes on their route across Lucis. Each time they halted and dispatched them quickly, efficiently, and with only a moderate amount of teasing. By the end, they were all ready for a hot shower—or a cold one, really—and a long nap. But the cans reached their destinations and, when they sat in Hammerhead passing a can of tinned peaches around, Reina couldn't help but think:

_This must be what Noct felt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may (or may not) have noticed that a couple chapters disappeared. This is because the edits are finished and I have posted all the edited chapters (which includes some new material, which you may--or may not--want to check out. Your choice). Some stuff changed; mostly I cut a bunch of junk out and put in a little more Iris, Ignis, and Cor.
> 
> Also, one of my readers is spearheading efforts to turn my fics into a series of audio dramas. If you want to check that out, you can find information/updates/etc at https://caitrin7.wixsite.com/ffxvead


	28. Sowing a Seed

 

######  _? ? ?:_

So the little Dreamer had finally learned to Dream. It shouldn't have been possible in real time. It  _wasn't_ possible, but that didn't seem to have prevented it from happening. Ardyn was more intrigued than he was annoyed. Perhaps  _she_  would kill  _him_ , now. What an intriguing thought.

Alas. It would have done her no good.

So he watched and he waited. He faded into the shadows and let plans pass him by. If he made them, she would Dream them and he wasn't ready for that, yet. No, much better that he let her sit. While he idled he had time to think—and it had the added bonus of making her increasingly uncomfortable. And, when he had thought, he was forced to reach a conclusion he had never before considered:

She might actually become a threat to him.

He had played the game too close. He had tantalized her with bits of information, intending to make the competition more interesting and instead she had pulled a triple-A card from her sleeve while she wasn't even wearing sleeves. Now his choices were dwindling. If she mastered that ability he could never kill her—how, after all, was he to engage an opponent who knew  _precisely_ what he would do, before even he did? Maybe she couldn't kill him, either, but that was hardly the point.

Whatever was a poor man to do?

If he killed her now he was doomed to a decade of waiting with no mouse to sink his claws into.

_Boring_.

If he  _didn't_ kill her, now, he ran the risk of never being able to.

And suffering a Caelum to live and carry on Somnus' tainted line was unacceptable. Unless—

His smile formed first. He was smoke and cloud, dark and teeth. The rest of him emerged afterward, putting a body to the smirk.

But of course.

Oh, it was  _beautiful_.

Now all that remained was to draw her out and plant the seeds... She had friends in Galdin, didn't she? It hardly mattered. She would come for them if he threatened, anyway.

"Come out, come out, little Dreamer…"

 

######  _16 January, 759:_

"Your Majesty!"

The door to the training room flew open. Reina turned, the familiar rebuke already forming on her lips.

"Not while my brother draws breath."

Libertus didn't bother to correct himself. "They're in Galdin, Majesty—Marshal."

"Who?" Cor stepped up to stand beside her.

"That daemon hoard, I reckon. Same one as took Caem."

Reina exchanged a look with Cor.  _Ardyn_. Why hadn't she Dreamed of his plans?

Perhaps because he hadn't made them.

And Galdin had been a sitting chocobo for years. She shouldn't have let them stay this long—she shouldn't have let them stay at all. The Quay had no walls, no defenses, nothing but lights to hold back the daemons and if Ardyn was coming those wouldn't stop anything.

It was time to move. They were already late.

"Libertus, prepare the Glaives. Cor, I need you here—" She could see the argument brewing before she had even finished speaking. "—because I don't trust Ardyn as far as I could throw him, and I haven't Dreamed this. There's no saying what else he will do."

Cor still looked mutinous, but he didn't voice any complaints. All he said was, "Stay safe," as she walked away.

So this was Ardyn's new game, was it? The last time he had made too many plans and dared her to guess which one was the true path. This time he had made none and simply struck as soon as the fancy crossed his mind. He was a clever bastard but surely she should have been able to see through that. Even if he didn't know what his plans were, yet, they still existed in the future, didn't they?

Reina didn't dwell. She had no time. She needed to have everyone loaded up and taken to Galdin four hours ago. Gods take her if she let more people die for Ardyn's entertainment.

* * *

Screams. Glorious,  _musical_ screams.

A cacophony of sounds to any other ear was melodious to his. It was the song of life. Of life ending, anyway.

Galdin still had electricity, but not for long. It wasn't much for defense. There was that lovely hotel out on the water with all the glass and open air. Nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. The other buildings were scarce: a few shacks, a few beach houses—nothing much of note. But it  _was_ such a shame to watch darkness blot out the shine of Lucis' finest jewel.

No, wait.

That was Insomnia.

He had done that one, already; it wasn't much for shine, these days.

Ardyn's shoulders shook with amusement at his own private joke. It was too much.  _Oh,_ there had been some wonderful screams that night, too. He threw his head back and laughed. The dark notes mingled with screams.

Headlights appeared on the road to the north. At long last. How long had it taken? A few hours at least—he was nearly running out of people to kill. Indeed, if killing them all had been his intention, they would have already been dead and the little Dreamer would have been much too late. The good news for her was that he didn't care about her people.

He only wanted her, now.

Mostly the imps lurked about, impotent, at the edge of the light. He had taken some of their floodlights down, just for fun—it  _was_ a long wait, after all—but he had left others. It hardly mattered whether or not anyone survived.

Now he stood at the end of the causeway, in front of the most glamorous hotel left in Lucis, and waited. The lights flagged just enough that the gargoyles swooped in, shattering glass and chasing a foolish few out into the night. Maybe they thought to reach more solid buildings on the mainland. Instead, they found the imps.

Or the imps found them, as the case was.

The princess' little army pulled into Galdin Quay. Behind Ardyn, in the faltering lights, people shouted. Kingsglaives—or were they the Queensglaives, these days?—poured out of the cars, nearly before they had stopped. They burst in blue light, drawing from the late king's magic and a strangled cheer went up in the hotel behind him.

"How sweet," Ardyn said. "She draws such  _hope_. It's almost a shame to crush it."

One of the more foolhardy streaked past him as the Kingsglaive cut through the imps and reached the other end of the causeway. Perhaps he thought Ardyn was harmless, or else unlikely to make a move—as he hadn't, all night.

Ardyn flicked his fingers; the miasma condensed, forming a puddle beneath the little man's feet, holding him fast. He sank and he struggled and the scourge ate up his legs. Just a little farther and...

At the end of the causeway, the Glaive parted for Reina and her blind companion. By herself, she might have been an imposing sight—if she hadn't been five feet tall and half the weight of an imp—but, somehow, dragging along a blind man everywhere she went rather put a damper on that. Ardyn had, selflessly,  _tried_ to relieve her of that burden the last time they had met. For some reason she hadn't been very grateful.

"Princess, you're just in time!" He swept his hat off his head and performed an elaborate bow. "I was just thinking of Insomnia."

"Let him go." Reina stopped ten feet off, one hand holding her polearm, the other her blind man.

"This?" Ardyn reached out with his magic, wrapping crimson threads around the bait's neck and lifting until his feet left the ground. Feet kicked, hands clutched, but Ardyn's hold didn't waver. "Do you want it? Come and take it, then."

He replaced his hat on his head adjusting the angle to sit  _just so_  as Reina took a few steps forward. Then he released his magic, not bothering to watch as the man crumpled to the dock and remained cowering there.

"Dino—" She was almost close enough to touch, now. She released her naginata and held out her hand. The little coward took it, letting her haul him to his feet before she shoved him down the dock in the direction of her Glaive.

And then it was just the three of them, again. Just like old times.

"Why are you doing this?"

"You never answer my calls." Ardyn stuck out his bottom lip.

She didn't even smile. How disappointing.

"I'm here, now. Let them go."

" _Insomnia_." Ardyn spread his hands, as if he hadn't heard her demand at all. She could have her people. He had what he wanted, now. All he needed was a little bit of wiggle room; so wiggle he did. "You remember Insomnia, don't you? That was where we first met."

"I will never forget." Her naginata was back in her hand; her knuckles turned white as she gripped it.

Ardyn smiled. "You were so much younger back then. Do you know—I think you still believed it would all be alright. We both know better than that, now, don't we? People like you and me will never find peace until we are dead. But back then—sitting there, that day, next to  _dear Father.._. You kept looking at him. Very obvious—very uncertain. Did you even know you did that?"

"Don't talk about my father."

_Oh?_

Ardyn's smile stretched. And here was a sore spot. What ever was he to do?

He poked it.

"Oh, Father-dear! With his impotent rage! That look on his face when I told him—" Ardyn laughed. "And he knew he couldn't do a single thing about it."

Reina's lips pressed in a thin line. She took half a step forward, but her blind man held her hand tight. Oh, it would never do.

"He  _tried_ , I grant him that, but it was doomed from the start. He was ever so pathetic toward the end—just one crippled old man against my empire…"

The muscles in Reina's arms bunched, like she was holding  _herself_ back. Just a little further…

"Do you know how he died?"

Something flashed on her face.

_Ah_.

"Oh, but  _of course_. You Dream everything, don't you? I watched, too. I could never resist the death of a Caelum. He tried so hard to be noble and virtuous, but in the end he really was just a worthless old—"

Her naginata narrowly missed the side of his face.

Ardyn laughed. How delightfully simple! So the little Dreamer's weak spot was her late father. That was telling and—now that he thought about it—highly useful. It wasn't quite the opening he had been looking for, but it would do. It would do.

He turned—a redirection of her rage was in order—and immediately took the blunt end of her naginata to the face.

" _Ow_." Ardyn touched his cheek as pain splintered across his head. Had she broken something? She must have broken something. "Just because you can't kill me doesn't mean I can't feel pain."

"I'm counting on it." Something about the look on her face bothered him. Perhaps 'bothered' was too strong a word. It just wasn't quite the expression he had been expecting.

Her naginata was coming down again. Wish a sigh, Ardyn summoned a blade and lifted it to meet hers… except it didn't. She redirected her stroke. She cut around and low, instead; the blade of her weapon cut through the front of his tunic, cleving flesh as well as cloth. No blood soaked his clothes. Instead, darkness poured out; it filled the cut, knitting flesh, making him whole again. But hell if it didn't still  _hurt_.

If she was surprised by the way his body mended itself, Reina gave no indication. She swung her naginata back around. Again he blocked and again she avoided his sword and cut a long line down his forearm. Ardyn hissed in pain. For an instant bone was visible before the darkness welled and filled the gaps. When it receded, his arm was just an arm once more.

She shouldn't have been able to do that. He didn't give enough time between the block and the blow falling, he should have caught her each time but so far she was three for three on hits.

And he was growing weary of her.

"Is it a fight you want, little Dreamer?"

"Reina—!" From behind, the blind man called.

"Stay back, Ignis." Reina sank into an offensive stance, keeping her eyes fixed on Ardyn. "I can handle this."

"Oh?" Ardyn smirked. "Such confidence! Why, I never thought I would see the day. Did you know—"

Her naginata flashed. His sword went up and, in spite of that, her blade cut through his collarbone. He  _felt_ the bone shatter. Against anyone else, she would have been deadly. Perhaps the confidence wasn't entirely misplaced. And perhaps it also wasn't a good time to discuss that, right now.

Pain hadn't wiped the smile from Ardyn's face. He had two thousand years of pain. This was a pittance compared to all the rest. As darkness engulfed his shoulder he straightened, smile unwavering, and summoned his Armiger.

They leapt at his call; fifteen glaives colored blood-red with taint. It was beautifully ironic. For all they had tried, no one had succeeded in striping the power from him. The harder they pushed the stronger he grew. When he, at last, cut down the Chosen King—the little whelp that held the distilled power of the Caelum bloodline—he would erase any remaining doubt: the Gods had made a terrible mistake.

Reina watched the weapons solidify around him, but her expression didn't change, as if she had known he could—and would—call on the Armiger. Had she Dreamed this? Surely not. He hadn't given her enough time…

"Don't you find it ironic, little Dreamer?" Ardyn stepped forward, but she didn't step back. "That of the two of us,  _I_ hold the Armiger? How wrong—how  _unfair_."

"I never wanted the Armiger."

"No? Perhaps you should." Ardyn lifted his hands and the glaives swept past his shoulders and streaked for the princess. He didn't intend to kill her. All he needed was to put her in a position where she was feeling more inclined to listen and less inclined to bash his head in. She couldn't bash his head in, for instance, if she was pinned to the hotel wall.

"I don't crave power."

She sidestepped the Armiger. It shouldn't have been possible. It  _wasn't_ possible—but that didn't stop her from doing it. She didn't phase; she didn't warp; she didn't lift her naginata to block a single blow. All she did was  _walk_. And she only walked where the blades weren't. She wove through them as if time stood still for her, a look of utter calm on her face.

Alright, it did bother him a little bit. Only he was allowed to wear that look when people were trying to kill him.

"Oh, little Dreamer—I'm not talking about power…" Ardyn flicked his fingers and redirected the energy. The Armiger formed a tornado of blades around her, each one poking and jabbing inward at randomized intervals, some all at once. "I'm talking about  _duty_."

From the outside, he couldn't see what transpired in the midst of his whirling blades, but just as he prepared to drop the Armiger and release her—feeling certain that she had taken a handful of good blows—her naginata launched between blades and directly at his chest.

In a flash of red, Ardyn phased out of the way.

Reina caught her weapon, rolled, and straightened, still glowing blue as she turned to face him.

She didn't have a single mark on her.

"You don't give a  _shit_ about duty."

Ardyn blinked at her. Had she really mastered those waking Dreams so quickly? It had only been a month—she shouldn't have been able to—

He was forced to phase again as she swept her polearm around.

"Of course  _I_ don't." The space where she  _should_ have been striking was empty when he rematerialized. No naginata, no Reina. "But you—"

He turned too slow. The blade plunged into his stomach and cut through his back. His hands moved instinctively to grasp the blade as pain shot through him.

He had underestimated her.

She pulled her naginata out, cutting his hands and releasing the darkness.

"You can't kill me, little Dreamer."

"Then I'll make your life suffering."

Ardyn gave a hollow chuckle. He straightened as the pain in his middle faded into ice. His clothes would need some aid, when she was through using him as a pin cushion, but his skin was untouched. He threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, it's  _far_ too late for that,  _princess_." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You and I are alike in that respect."

"I am  _nothing_ like you."

How cliché. The big bag trying to convince the heroine that they were really alike, at the heart of things.

"You just haven't looked hard enough. You know what we have in common? Blood."

"My ancestry doesn't determine my destiny."

"Doesn't it?" Ardyn smirked. Did she realize what she had just said. She didn't—not by the look on her face—but he knew for certain when it settled into her mind. "Ah… yes. The Caelums. Chosen of the Gods. Everything—predestined, for us. All of us were just pawns: you, me, Noctis… your darling father."

Her jaw tightened and her grip resettled on his naginata. Ardyn lifted his hands, hoping she wouldn't strike again, because it seemed, these days, what she wanted to hit she  _did_ hit.

"The difference between myself and them—between  _you_ and them—is how important we were. Or weren't, as the case may be. The difference between you and  _me_ is that  _I know_ I was only ever a pawn in their bigger game… and I grew tired of never rising to king."

At least she had stopped attacking him. That was a good start; a foot in the door, so to speak.

"I never wanted to be queen."

"No, of course not. And yet, you  _do_ want things." Everyone wanted something. He had been watching her for years, trying to decide what it was. Of course, she wanted to keep people safe, but that was so  _boring_. She didn't want that for herself. Everyone, deep down, had to have  _some_ personal wish. Tonight, she had given him a hint as to what it was. Now he made the leap.

"Those things are not out of your reach, you know. The Gods do not want you to wield that power—you wear the ring, but they fight against giving you control… just think what you could do with it if you stopped being a pawn." He laid the tracks carefully. First, a few things she wanted… "You could keep your people safe. You could control the crystal. You could summon the Wall once more, to hold back the daemons…"

...and then the one thing she wanted more than anything…

"You could call upon the kings of old at will…" Just a hint, before… "You could call on your father at will."

He knew by the look on her face that he had succeeded. She had been so calm, so withdrawn before. She calculated every move and she saw everything coming. But he told her she could see her father  _whenever she wanted_  and everything else broke down.

That was just the seed.

"Think about it, little Dreamer…" He smirked, and the darkness swallowed him.

Now all he had to do was wait for it to grow roots.


	29. Stutter

######  _16 January, 759:_

"You could call upon the kings of old at will… You could call on your father at will."

"You could call on your father at will." Ardyn's words seemed to echo in her head.

"Think about it, little Dreamer…" She watched his smile disappear into the cloud of black mist. But when she looked again he was still there.

"Think about it, little Dreamer…" She watched him fade away a second time, but—

"You could call on your father at will."

"You could call on your father at will."

"You could call on your father at will."

Every time he spoke the words exactly the same. No variation in intonation. No added emphasis. He was standing in exactly the same spot, looking down the front of his shirt as if his words were of no consequence, and brushing the same spot of dirt off his sleeve…

Again…

And again.

"Think about it, little Dreamer…"

"You could call upon the kings of old at will… You could call on your father at will."

"Reina?"

Reina turned with a start. She had half forgotten that Ignis was still standing at the shore, and she was loath to put Ardyn at her back—

But he wasn't.

He was gone.

Even though—"You could call on your father at will"—he was still standing on the dock.

"...call on your father at will."

"...at will—"

"Reina?"

"Ignis—" She took a step toward him, desperate and reaching out for something to hold onto. It took too long to reach him, but when she did he took her hand and held on tight.

"Are you injured? Has Ardyn gone?"

_Was_ he gone? She looked back over her shoulder to the space where he had stood. It was still empty.

"I… I think he's gone."

"Are you injured?" Ignis repeated, one hand still holding tight to her while the other found her face and traced the edges.

"No—I'm okay. He didn't hit me…" She had to look herself over just to make sure she wasn't lying to him. But she was unmarked.

"Has Ardyn gone?"

Reina's brow furrowed as she looked up at Ignis. "Yes, I told you… I think he's gone."

"You… did not say that, Reina."

But she  _had_. She had told him; she remembered quite clearly telling him Ardyn was gone.

Except…

"I think I'm Dreaming…"

The memories from a waking Dream were identical to her true memories.

"I can only assure you that you are awake, now." He said it so definitively, grasping her face between his hands and holding her tight. But how could he really know?

"I mean that—I think I keep having waking Dreams. More than before and I can't get out…" She held onto his arms, willing him to make everything solid and real like he had done, last time.

"Is the control you learned of no help?"

"I always kept one foot in the present, before…" She shut her eyes and buried her face against his chest. If she focused, she could  _see_ the alternate futures unrolling in front of her, but they were a tangle of paths leading back to a tangle of pasts and, hard as she tried, she couldn't tell which one was real. "But I lost track of it while I was fighting Ardyn…"

"What did you lose track of?"

Reina looked up at him. "The present…"

His expression was one of confusion. "I don't understand what you mean—are you hurt?"

"I  _said_ that, already!" She could feel her heart pounding in her ears, now, feel her breath catch in her chest. She was trapped in a loop. This wasn't even Ignis she was talking to. She couldn't  _reach_ Ignis; this was just some echo of a shadow of a Dream and she  _couldn't get out_.

"Reina… you have only just returned…"

She grasped his arms as tight as she could and stared up into his face. "What have I said to you?  _Tell me everything I've done._ "

He was looking alarmed, now, but it was nothing to what she felt. "You said my name; you reached out to me and put your head to my chest, but all you said was… 'I said that, already.' Reina—what has happened? Are you alright?"

Panic, frustration, and fear all bubbled over and spilled out as tears. She couldn't reach him. Every word she spoke was just shouting into the void.

"Ignis,  _please_. Please listen to me. Please hear me. Please, please, please." Her forehead hit his sternum. His arms wrapped around her.

"I am listening, Reina; what do you ask of me?"

For a moment she let herself believe him. She looked up into his face and let him brush the tears away, and for five consecutive seconds, she thought he was real.

And then he said: "Are you hurt?"

* * *

He stood, blind and pointless at the shore end of the causeway, waiting because he would only get in the way if he tried to help. Ardyn had countless powers of which they knew very little. Reina, at least, could match his magic. And, if his words meant anything, she wasn't doing a poor job, either.

So Ignis waited. He listened to Ardyn's poison words and insinuations. They didn't worry him much—if Ardyn believed he could convince her that they were somehow alike, he was more a fool than Ignis had thought—until the very last, when Ardyn took the very thing that she wanted more than anything in the world and dangled it in front of her nose.

She didn't say anything to that hint. Indeed, a moment later everything was silent. But he didn't need to see her to know the look that must have been on her face after that.

And yet…

She stumbled toward him, her feet catching on the uneven planks.

"Reina—are you hurt?" He held out his hands and she came to him, brushing her fingers up his arms and not stopping until she was against his chest.

His fingers were mapping the line across her shoulders and down her arms before she answered. It was just as well he didn't wait, because she never answered. She leaned against him, let him hold her, listless. And then she wasn't. Then she grasped the front of his shirt and let out a quivering breath that was more sob than sigh.

"Reina?"

There were tears on her cheeks.

"I'm fine," she whispered, and sounded anything but. "I'm fine... I'm fine... I'm fine... I'm fine... I'm fine..."

It wasn't an answer that inspired confidence. Was she telling him or herself?

"...Perhaps we should return to Lestallum," Ignis said, because he couldn't think of anything else to do. Cor was in Lestallum and maybe, just  _maybe_ —

" _I told you_ —" Suddenly she wasn't leaning against his chest anymore. She was upright, still holding onto the front of his shirt, tense like she meant to shake him. "I'm stuck and I can't get out. I'm screaming and no matter how loud I yell you can't hear me."

She was… what?

"I  _do_ hear you, Reina." He cupped her face in his hands, finding more tears on her cheeks and brushing them away. "I'm right here."

"Don't you understand? Everything I tell you, you forget because it never happened." She released his shirt, pulled back, and ran her hands over her face, knocking his away.

"Reina—"

"I just… want to wake up…" The frustration was gone from her voice just as suddenly as it had come. Now she sounded tired—more weary than anyone under the age of ninety had any right being.

"You  _are_ awake, Reina." Ignis reached out to her again. If he could just show her—somehow—if he could convince her…

"That's what you said last time. And the time before last. And a hundred times before that."

So she was… stuck in a waking Dream? Or multiple iterations of various Dreams?

"—gone. I am unharmed. We are going back to Lestallum; the others will follow with the refugees." Again her tone changed, just as abruptly as before. This time it was blank—weary but impatient. She brushed past him, pulling from his grasp and leaving him trailing after her.

* * *

Everyone hit the ground running when they pulled into Galdin. The daemons were everywhere, like they didn't even care about the floodlights anymore. Reina pushed past them all, heading straight for the docks. One glance told Iris what she was after.

Iris should have gone with her. Later, she would look back and wonder if she couldn't have done something—changed something—prevented something. But in the moment she was more pragmatic. The only one of them who could stand against Ardyn was Reina. For the rest of them, it was better to stay out of his way. No one wanted to put it past him to dismember someone else just to hurt Reina.

And so, for better or worse, she stayed with the Glaives. Together, they managed to round up most of the survivors and usher them toward the parking lot; their trucks wouldn't fit everyone, but Galdin held other cars. Iris set them to loading up, assigned Glaives to guard them, and kept one eye on the dock while Reina and Ardyn became a whirlwind of blades and magic.

It wasn't until later, after everything had calmed down, that she realized Ardyn had disappeared.

"Iris." Ignis was moving her direction at Reina's heel.

Reina was walking, her eyes fixed determinedly on the truck they had ridden in on. Except she wasn't  _just_ walking. She seemed to flinch, now and them. Or she shook her head like she was trying to jar her own brain.

"Hey." Iris glanced from Reina to Ignis and back again. "You alright?"

"I already told you."

Iris blinked at her, then at Ignis, as if he would see.

"Just drive." Reina stopped outside the truck and pressed her palms to her eyes, shaking her head again. "Lestallum."

Puzzled, but in no mood to argue, Iris climbed into the truck and took the wheel. A moment later, Ignis slid in beside her and Reina on his other side. She didn't look like she was planning to tell anyone anything, let alone give the Glaives any sort of instruction.

Iris hung out the window. "Libertus! Get them loaded up and back to Lestallum. I've gotta get Her Highness back."

"You got it." Libertus gave her half a salute, not questioning the necessity of taking Reina back to Lestallum  _right now_.

Ignis and Reina were both quiet the whole way up to the main road. Reina leaned into Ignis; he put one arm around her. If someone would just explain to Iris what was going on… that would be great.

"Tell her whatever you want," Reina said, without preamble or context. "She only forgets when I tell her."

"I.. what? I do not!" She hadn't even said anything!

"Iris," Ignis said, "I cannot say for certain what happened or why, but I suspect Reina has stopped experiencing time in a straightforward, chronological way—and, as is often the case with her Dreams, not everything she experiences ever comes to pass."

"So she's… unstuck in time? What does that even mean?"

"You recall the waking Dreams?"He asked. Iris nodded. "This may be that, but completely out of her control."

"Maybe Cor will help," Reina said. Before she had sounded impatient, frustrated—which fit with what Ignis said—but now she just sounded small. Helpless.

Cor didn't, so far as Iris knew, know anything about Reina's Dreams. But he was a little like a rock—slow to change, impossible to make laugh, and comfortingly stable.

"Yeah," Iris said, "Maybe Cor can help."

Maybe he was a stick in the mud, sometimes, but if Reina was bouncing around and needed to hold onto something… maybe that would help.

"Cor can't help," tired-Reina said.

What was she even meant to say to that? How did one talk to someone who wasn't experiencing the conversation in the same order you were? Reina said things that Iris never heard, and Iris probably said so many things across however many Dreams that Reina couldn't even  _remember_ what she had said last.

Iris drove. It was the only thing she could do.

* * *

Lestallum was four hours from Galdin. It seemed to take twelve to reach it. Perhaps longer.

She might have slept, but it was difficult to say for certain. By the time they reached Lestallum, every iteration of Ignis that she met was some shade of concerned between uneasy and alarmed. But all of him were willing to let her curl up against him and try—desperately—to believe he was all the same person. At least if he didn't speak she couldn't find out how much she hadn't told him.

The car door opened fifteen times before she stopped counting and several more after that before she got sick of opening it and just stayed right where she was. Ignis didn't object. Eventually someone else opened it, anyway.

"Reina?"

Cor.

She turned to look at him, let herself believe that somehow everything would be alright, now. Cor was safety. Cor was security. He would have given his life for her and—though she knew Ignis and Iris would both have done the same, given the chance—for some reason his staunch, no-nonsense persona seemed more applicable at the moment.

"Cor." Her eyes pricked with tears. Relief? Or fear that everything would be the same, after all?

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," she said, though she had long since past the point of wondering if it was true.

The world stuttered.

"Are you alright?" Cor asked.

The tears that had been threatening to fall since he opened the door finally did so.

"No." She lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck. After a frozen moment, he hugged her back. "I'm lost in the dark."

He just held her. He didn't ask if she was alright, again, but she had stopped hoping, by then. He would. Eventually.

He pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders as he looked her over.

She only recognized the concern on his face, under the permanent crease in his brow, because she knew what she was looking for. It wasn't appraisal with which he inspected her—it was the same way that Ignis' hands searched her for scrapes and cuts after every altercation. He really was an incorrigible worrier.

Just like Father. She shut her eyes, not even trying to fight the tears that fell.

"You could call on your father at will," said Ardyn.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in Galdin.

"Think about it, little Dreamer…"

She shut her eyes again.

* * *

Their truck was first—through the windshield, Cor could just see Iris at the wheel with Ignis and Reina beside her. When they stopped, only Iris moved. She threw open her door and stood on the bar, leaning out and scanning the crowd. She motioned when she spotted him; Cor was already moving.

"Cor—something's up with Rei—"

He didn't wait for the rest. He pulled the passenger side door open and found Reina still sitting—leaning up against Ignis.

"Reina? Are you alright?"

She didn't respond immediately; she left enough time that he was almost assured she  _was_ okay—at least she didn't seem to have a scratch on her—right until she turned and threw her arms around him all in one motion.

Cor blinked, stunned for a moment before he gathered enough of his wits to wrap his arms around her.

"Cor…" her voice was small, quivering with the tears she hadn't been crying a moment before. "Please be real, this time."

_This_  time? What was she talking about?

He held her a little tighter and looked over her shoulder at Ignis, hoping for some answers—a pointless gesture, given that Ignis couldn't see it. But Iris did.

"We think… um… that Reina's stuck in waking Dreams. In a  _lot_ of waking Dreams," Iris said as she dropped back into the driver's seat. "She keeps remembering things that haven't happened and I guess maybe we're not getting her all in chronological order, because she seems to jump around…"

Cor's eyes flicked between Iris and Ignis. "What do you mean 'jump around'?"

"I mean she goes from scared to jaded to annoyed to tired in one minute."

Throughout the explanation, Reina remained silent against Cor. But occasionally her hold on his shoulders tightened or her tears redoubled.

Then: "Help me…" uttered so quietly he thought he had imagined it.

"Right." Maybe he didn't know anything about Dreams or magic. But he knew something about Reina and right now she needed to be out of this growing mess of chaos in the square.

He shifted his hold on her and scooped her up in his arms. When he pulled her from the car and headed toward the Leville, Ignis and Iris fell into step behind him. They didn't offer any further insight, so presumably they were as much in the dark as he was, beyond what had already been shared, which wasn't overwhelmingly encouraging. So far as he knew, no one knew  _anything_ about her Dreams. He had  _thought_ she was beginning to get a handle on them, but…

But the fact was that the only other person who had any semblance of control over those nightmares or whatever the hell they were was long dead.

_Damn it, Regis. You know I'm no good at this shit_.

They made a peculiar procession up the stairs of the Leville. People moved out of the way for them on the street and inside the hotel, but eyes followed as they passed. Small wonder. They would have to quell rumors that the queen was incapacitated soon. Even if the rumors  _were_ true. And Cor was no good at  _that_ shit, either. That was Ignis' job, then. But first—

Iris pulled the door to Reina and Ignis' rooms open when they arrived and Cor swept in to lay Reina down on the bed. When he did, she sat with her knees tucked up under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs.

"Don't talk over me," she said, perhaps in reply to a conversation that hadn't yet happened. "Everything you say I hear ten times over; you might as well make it worth listening to."

Though she had been holding onto Cor and leaving tear spots on his shoulder but a moment before, now she sounded almost bored. She didn't look at any of them.

"Have you any idea—"

"If I did, I would have stopped it days ago."

Days? It hadn't been more than half a day since she had left Lestallum for Galdin in the first place and, by Iris and Ignis' accounts, not more than four hours since she had been this way.

But those, he realized, were four hours for  _him_. How long had she been reliving this one day over?

Days, she said.

He intended to make sure it wasn't any longer. If she had no knowledge of this, perhaps there were others—the Glaives had the most extensive magical knowledge of anyone in Lestallum, and young Talcott knew more about the history of Lucis than anyone still alive.

"Iris—"

"I'll save you the trouble. They don't know, either." Once again, Reina responded to a sentence he hadn't even managed to say, yet.

He fell silent, exchanging a look with Iris because he couldn't with Ignis. On the bed, Reina tensed and put her forehead against her knees.

"Cor… Ignis… Iris…" Her voice cracked with each name. Gone was the jaded Reina from a moment ago—or had it really been Reina from days in the future?—and in her place was a young woman still adrift and still afraid. "I wish you could hear me."

Cor lowered onto the bed next to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning close. "We're right here, Reina. And I, for one, do not intend to leave."

Reina shook her head. "You're just a Dream. And in a second, you'll forget I ever told you this. Just like you have every other time."

Cor pulled her tight against his chest. Much as he wanted to swear he wouldn't, he knew that—from her perspective—he would. Perhaps he already had, if she had jumped to another Dream.

"Let's have some dinner—" Cor glanced up at Iris, who nodded once and left without being told "—and then you should get some rest."

"It won't help," she said—lost, pathetic, but no longer afraid and not yet jaded. Time was all tangled up.

But they did eat. It was as much of a trial—more of a trial—than trying to talk to her. She alternated between eating and growing sick of the taste. How many times had she choked through that same bowl of soup before she reached the end of it?

When that was through, she agreed to sleeping, and so Cor and Iris withdrew—albeit reluctantly—to leave her in Ignis' care for the rest of the night.

Iris shut the door behind them and let out a breath, like she had been holding it in for an hour.

"Do you think… she'll get better?" She asked.

"Yes," he said, with more certainty than he felt. "She has overcome every other obstacle. She will learn to control this. Somehow."

The question wasn't 'would she?' or 'could she?' or even 'when?'—because what did time even mean, anymore?

The question was:

Which Reina would she be, when she came out the other side?


	30. Save State. Load State.

######  _17 January, 759:_

She was adrift.

Reina had never played many of Noct's video games, but through the years she had grown accustomed to watching. It had always struck her how odd it was that he could press a button and leap back in time to re-do events that had already been done—and no one else in the game seemed to notice anything at all.

Now she knew what that felt like.

She was trapped inside someone else's game and whoever was holding the controller didn't have a full grasp on how the 'save' and 'load' functions worked. She watched her whole life re-load—it happened anywhere from as frequently as every few seconds to every few hours. Before, she had been able to keep track of it; if you only hit 'load' rarely, it was easy to remember which things you had or hadn't done on any given playthrough. Now she couldn't. It happened too often, too sporadically, and she wasn't in control of it.

All she could do was hold on as tightly as she was able and keep moving forward, no matter how often she was set back.

It was still dark when she woke with Ignis beside her, but it always was, now. If they hadn't finished the new power grid before the last sunset, it would have been catastrophic for their food supply—among other things. Even with warehouses lined and packed ten trays high with plants, fresh vegetables were a commodity. Once the canned food ran out—which it would—people would start going hungry.

These were the thoughts that always stewed in the back of her mind. Regardless of what else happened or occupied her, they lingered like an unwelcome houseguest. She had a lot of time for thinking, recently. Nothing else seemed to stick around except her thoughts.

They came to the forefront now, as Reina slipped from the bed, trying not to wake Ignis. But there was that spring in the corner that creaked when she passed over it wrong.

Ignis stirred.

"Reina?" The only light in the room filtered in through the window—the city lights that kept the daemons at bay—but it was enough to see his face by as his colorless eye flicked open.

She bit back a sigh. She had been hoping to spare him her restlessness. "Here, Ignis."

Ignis' hand brushed hers—

And she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling overhead. From beside her, she could hear Ignis' breathing, slow and steady in his sleep. She lifted her hands and pressed her palms to her eyes. Nothing had changed with a night's sleep.

This time when she slipped out of bed, she avoided the creaking spring. Ignis slept on. She dressed silently and went downstairs. With any luck, she would return before he woke and he wouldn't find an empty bed.

But first she needed to sort out her thoughts. Ardyn's words kept drifting through her mind, no matter how she tried to block them out.

_I am nothing like him_ , she told herself.

That part, at least, was absurd; a lie he had pushed too far. Most things he said were half-truths and manipulations, and yet… and yet she couldn't help but see a chess board where every pawn was painted with a Caelum face. For so long she had told herself the Gods had a plan, that she and the rest of her family were walking the path meant for them… but how was that really different? How was it any different from being picked up and placed on squares and ordered to go forth—advance, attack, protect. That  _was_ what they were, wasn't it? The Gods had chosen them, given them this strength, and required that they protect the crystal in return.

_In return_. As if the magic they granted was some sort of boon instead of a curse. As if being able to summon fire in their hands made up for two thousand years of giving their lives for a future they would never see.

Bitterness welled up inside her, but she pushed it away.

_That's exactly what he wants_.  _I can't afford to stop believing._

She descended to the kitchens to have some semblance of breakfast before the day grew too busy.

Cor sat at the kitchen table alongside Weskham and Monica. The atmosphere stilled when Reina entered and she knew from the looks they gave her that word of yesterday's events had passed from Cor to the others. She wasn't surprised. But she wasn't pleased, either.

"Reina—" Cor half-rose from his seat. "—How are you feeling?"

Weskham and Monica stood fully, each giving a bow and a "Your Highness."

In hindsight, if she wanted not to interact with people, the kitchen in the morning was a bad place to be. She  _could_ have turned around and left again, but—

She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling overhead. From beside her, she could hear Ignis' breathing, slow and steady in his sleep. She lifted her hands and pressed her palms to her eyes.

Reina swallowed a cry of frustration. She slipped out of bed, avoiding the creaky spring, dressed, and left, but didn't go to the kitchens, where she knew she would find Cor and the others. Instead she went up, climbing the stairs to the roof.

On the roof, she found Iris in her normal morning haunt.

"Reina!" Iris was surprised to see her, but that was all. She didn't ask how Reina was feeling, she didn't ask what had happened in Galdin.

"Iris." Reina sat down beside her.

The silence stretched for minutes, each content to let the other alone with their thoughts. At least the endless cycle of Dreams left Reina with ample processing time. She had as much time in one morning as most people had in a day. The only thing she seemed to be able to do with that time was think. Now she thought of Ardyn… and the ring.

She twisted the Ring of the Lucii on her finger. He said she could learn to summon the kings at will—that she could call upon her father's spirit whenever she liked. It sounded like a lie. She had tried everything she could think to see her father again. By now she was wondering if the whole thing in Gralea hadn't just been a dream.

"Have you had breakfast?" Iris asked, at last. "I think Cor was waiting for you."

"I know."

It didn't answer her question, but it seemed sufficient, so Reina didn't say anything else. Iris fell silent again.

This was probably a Dream, anyway. It didn't—

She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling overhead. From beside her, she could hear Ignis' breathing, slow and steady in his sleep.

She pressed her palms against her burning eyes. At least it wasn't quite as bad as it had been, the day before. Day? Days? How long had she been doing this?

She rolled over to look at Ignis as he slept soundly. It was stupid—he was right next to her—but she missed him. If she could just reach out… she smoothed his hair back from his face and let out a breath.

Ignis stirred, colorless eye fluttering open in the dark. "Reina?"

And now she had woken him unintentionally. She tried to believe that it mattered, tried to convince herself that this was the real Ignis and that he would remember whatever she said to him. It would have been nice just to have a whole conversation straight through...

She pressed her lips to his forehead and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Go back to sleep."

Ignis' arms wrapped around her waist; his face pressed against her neck. "Are you feeling… better?"

"I haven't stopped Dreaming."

"Is there no way to control it?"

Again she thought of Noctis' video games. He would save frequently, and then load whenever something went wrong. Wasn't that what she had been doing, so far, this morning?

"Every time something happens that I don't want… I wake up again."

First she had woken up Ignis on accident. After that she had walked into an uncomfortable situation with Cor and the others. Then she had been rude to Iris...

"What if you are already awake and something goes awry?"

"I don't know." Reina buried her fingers in his hair and then trailed them down the back of his neck. "It hasn't happened, yet."

She still saw no difference between waking and Dreaming. As far as she knew, the only way to know that she was awake was if she didn't  _wake up_. She was beginning to think it didn't matter at all.

"Maybe I'm always asleep. Maybe Ardyn was right."

"I heavily doubt anything that man says."

He had good reasons for it. Hadn't it been Ardyn who had convinced her to try Dreaming on purpose, in the first place? Had he known it would break? Had he known that it would get out of her control? Was he hoping to drive her mad with it?

It seemed the sort of thing he would do. And yet, in spite of all evidence that warned her against it, she couldn't help but seriously consider what he had said to her in Galdin. Not just about her father, but about the Caelums and the Gods...

"Maybe someday I'll get to wake up and do it all right," Reina said.

Ignis held her a little tighter. "Reina…"

There was a sort of warning in his voice, but she ignored it.

"Maybe someday I'll get to stop waking up at all."

The look he gave her—simultaneously alarmed and stern—made her regret her words almost immediately. It was a stupid wish and a stupid thought and no matter how tired she was, she was never justified in making Ignis worry like that.

Time to wake up.

She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling overhead. From beside her, she could hear Ignis' breathing, slow and steady in his sleep.


	31. Two Ways

__

######  _18 January, 759:_

The only consolation she had, when she woke the next morning, was that at least she couldn't make any lasting mistakes, anymore. She couldn't choose and she couldn't stop it and sometimes the whole thing went haywire like it had in Galdin, where she experienced the same seconds over and over and over and over until she was ready to scream.

But at least, if she did scream at Ignis, she would just reset afterward.

Like she reset when she woke Ignis on her way out of bed. The second time she did better—she made it to the balcony and pulled the sliding door open to stand in the warm Lestallum night.

She twisted the Ring of the Lucii on her finger as she looked out across the city and—as they had every time before when she had a moment alone—Ardyn's words came back to her.

When first she had put on the ring, it had summoned the old kings. Or, more accurately, it had summoned  _her_ before them. But she couldn't seem to replicate that in any way. She had tried taking the ring off and putting it back on; she had tried Feeling for the presence of the kings, like she could Feel the presence of the Glaives that were connected to her; she had tried dropping to her knees and begging silently for audience with them. Nothing worked.

If she could speak to the kings again, perhaps she could reason with them.

_You could keep your people safe…_

If she could reason with them, perhaps she could convince them.

_You could control the crystal…_

If she could convince them, perhaps they would grant her the power.

_You could summon the Wall once more…_

After all, what they wanted was the same as what she wanted: to protect the people, to safeguard the future.

_You could call on your father at will…_

Reina shut her eyes, blocking out the black of night and twisting the ring on her finger. Try as she might to convince herself that what she wanted was to protect her people, deep down she knew it was a lie. What she wanted more than that—more than anything at all—was to see him again, to hear him again, to speak to him again. But she could never face him knowing she had sacrificed the safety of his people—their people—for her own selfish desires.

A knock sounded on the outer door.

"Reina?" It was Cor. "Are you… well enough to hold council?"

She didn't turn immediately, though she knew she needed to face her council; they deserved more of an explanation than she had so far given, especially considering that Ignis had doubtless already shared what he had witnessed of her fight with Ardyn.

Reina stopped twisting the ring and turned away from the city. Her experimentation with the old magic would have to wait. She went to the door to tell him to go ahead. It took a few tries before he remembered her saying anything at all, but eventually he did go.

By then Ignis was waking, so they went down to the council room together. They found the others already gathered. Reina sat down across from Cor, and Ignis took the seat to her right. On her other side was Iris; beside Cor were Holly, Cid, and Weskham.

"Reina." Cor made as if to rise when she entered, but she motioned him to stay—hadn't they just spoken? Had she Dreamed that?

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

Though she remembered giving him the answer at least five times since she had returned from Galdin, she couldn't remember if he had ever asked it.

Nevertheless, she answered again: "I live most minutes of the day multiple times. Suffice it to say that every day is a long day."

"So there has been no improvement since Galdin?"

"Very little. But I will find some way to deal with it—one way or another."

Of course, if it persisted, she would have no shortage of practice time. Her mind remembered events that hadn't occurred, but her body didn't. It wouldn't be helpful in building muscle memory or strength skills, but she had ample time to practice mental control.

"I hope it will not go awry," Cor said.

"It has already gone awry, Cor." She smiled at him, but she knew it looked bitter. She could have told him everything—she  _wanted_ to tell him everything—but he wouldn't remember. And in the end, if she was left pouring out her heart time and time again, she would be frustrated and exhausted and no closer to what she wanted than she had been at the start.

She knew. She had already done it dozens of times.

That man sitting across from her wasn't Cor. She wasn't surrounded by her friends and advisers. They were all just echoes of the true thing—a mirage in the desert. Wouldn't it be better if she didn't try chasing them?

It was difficult to believe that only a few months ago she had stayed solidly in one time and place until she lay down to Dream at night. Maybe Cor had been right in the first place. Maybe Ardyn  _had_  suggested she learn to Dream at will to make her as crazy as he was. And yet… he had been just as surprised as she in Caem, after her first waking Dream—for lack of a better phrase.

No, she couldn't believe that this had been Ardyn's plan all along. And, as jarring and uncomfortable as the Dreams had become, she couldn't regret gaining this power. Already it had saved Ignis' life; it would save more before the night was over. If this was the price she paid then so be it.

They were silent for a moment, an air of hesitation hanging over the table. Then Cor said, "About what Ardyn said to you in Galdin…"

Beneath the table, Ignis' hand landed on her knee—a silent apology for having told Cor without her permission. She rested her hand over his. She understood; he had been afraid, and it was really just as well that someone else explained things, anyway. No one else seemed to grow tired to repeating the same words over and over again.

When Reina didn't respond, Cor continued. "This is your decision to make… but I do not for a moment believe that he means well with his hints."

"I doubt he means well with anything," Reina agreed. "But that doesn't mean his every word is a lie."

Ironic, wasn't it? She had once told her father she didn't believe a single word the chancellor said. Why didn't she think so, now? Something about what he said—when he spoke of the Gods and fate. He meant it. Somehow she knew that he meant it. And it was itching in the back of her mind, now.

Weren't they all just pawns?

"You… trust when he says you might harness more power from the ring?" Cor chose his words carefully—she could hear it in the hesitant pauses.

"I do not  _trust_ him. But I believe it would be foolish to ignore the possibility."

Cor cleared his throat, glancing to Weskham. Weskham remained silent, apparently unlikely to lend the help he was looking for.

"With all due respect, Your Highness," Cor said, "The last time we had this discussion is what put you in the state in the first place."

"And I do not regret that. I have made an exchange; yes, I would prefer not to live like this, but I cannot afford to make decisions based on personal preference. If this gives me the power to save more lives, to protect more of my people, then I will willingly live each day three times over. That is what must be done. Likewise, if I reach for the power of the ring and am given yet another choice between my own well-being and that of my people, I will choose my people once again."

Again, silence met her words. She met Cor's gaze solidly, before he dropped his eyes to the table. Beneath the table, Ignis' grip on her knee tightened.

"I don't want you to live like this," Cor said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him—though there were no other sounds in the room.

She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. Wasn't that what she had felt for her father? Wasn't that what  _everyone_ had felt for her father? He had taken the ring and the weight of the Wall upon himself; he had sacrificed his strength for the safety of his people. She had always hated it. Sometimes she could see in Clarus' face how much he hated it, as well. It was so easy to fall into despising the people who demanded such sacrifices of the king. Now she was on the other side.

"Every Caelum who takes the throne—however temporarily—knows the cost," Reina said. "I will pay the price, just as my forefathers have."

That was her place.

" _The Caelums. Chosen of the Gods. Everything—predestined, for us."_ Ardyn's voice seemed to whisper in her ear.

Everyone seemed to fall to contemplating their hands. Even Ignis, who had nothing to look at, sat with his chin on his chest. They were prepared to mourn her before she was dead. And, for her part, Reina was prepared to die.

It was Ignis who eventually broke the silence, this time.

"And… the last thing he said to you? Do you believe that?"

He didn't have to specify what he was talking about; Reina knew. Ardyn was always careful with his words and so, of course, he had saved the strongest ones for last. He knew her heart—presenting her with those things she wanted, hinting, tantalizing—and then tying off the lot with the one thing she could never turn her back on.

Reina said nothing. What could she say?

Weskham cleared his throat to draw attention. "Little princess, you know your father is gone… He can't come back."

"I know," she said, but Weskham was wrong.

Her father might have been dead, but he wasn't gone. She had seen him.

And she could see him again.

* * *

__

######  _18 January, 759:_

She didn't look as distant, when she stepped into the council room, as she had two days ago coming back from Galdin Quay. But she didn't look right, either.

She had the same black hair, the same regal features, the same burning blue eyes, but underneath something was different. Try as he might, Cor couldn't put his finger on it.

"Reina." He felt like he should stand. He had been less the captain to her queen and more the uncle to her niece in the past several months, but today she looked like he should stand.

She stopped him before he was all the way up; he lowered back into his seat at the council table between Cid and Wes.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, instead.

"Fine," she said. She didn't look it. "You're wondering about Ardyn's suggestion that I could control the ring, and what I intend to do about it." Reina took her seat beside Ignis and folded her hands on the table. "Simply: I intend to learn to control the ring. Fully."

He  _had_ been wondering, at some point before, but just then his concerns were more on her well-being. But he tucked away his concerns for the moment—until some later, more appropriate time—and focused on the trouble of Ardyn and his hint that she might be able to command the crystal and the Wall, as Regis had.

"Do you… trust—"

She answered his question before it was all the way out of his mouth, "No. But I believe it would be foolish to ignore the possibility."

Wasn't that the same thing she had said before, when Ardyn had suggested she could Dream at will? To be fair, she  _could_ , and she had. And then she had Dreamed while awake. And now, if his surmise was correct, she couldn't stop. If that was where Ardyn's advice led, where would  _this_ suggestion take her?

"With all due respect, Your Highness—"

"I do not regret where Ardyn's hints have led me, thus far. I have made an exchange; yes, I would prefer not to live like this, but I cannot afford to make decisions based on personal preference. If this gives me the power to save more lives, to protect more of my people, then I will willingly live each day three times over. That is what must be done. Likewise, if I reach for the power of the ring and am given yet another choice between my own well-being and that of my people, I will choose my people once again. Every Caelum who takes the throne—however temporarily—knows the cost. I will pay the price, just as my forefathers have."

She was just like Regis.

It was the same sacrifice he had made and Mors before him; Cor hated it just as much now as he had, then. But he understood duty.

"I understand," Cor said.

"Good. Then, if there is nothing else with regards to Ardyn, we must discuss the state of the food stores."

There was something else. Something that bothered Cor more than the potential that she would use the ring—at the cost of her health and sanity—to protect Lucis. Something she was avoiding.

Cor glanced at Weskham. They had discussed it the day before—Ardyn's hint that she could use the ring to see Regis again.

"Reina—" Weskham sat forward in his chair.

She saved them the trouble of broaching an uncomfortable subject. "You don't need to concern yourself with my own personal desires. As ever, I am prepared to give them up for the greater purpose."

Weskham bowed his head in deference. Even Cor wasn't prepared to argue with someone who knew what he would say before he did.

What she said was true, of course; Reina always had been the child who was willing to give up everything. Her tutors and instructors always admired that in her, calling her selfless, but it had always bothered Regis. Cor had thought he was being foolish, at the time. Now he could see something unsettling in it. Everyone had wants and needs; someone who was willing to abandon all of them—not most of them, but every single one—wasn't selfless.

They were ill.


	32. Learning Curve

 

######  _January - May, 759:_

Reina  _was_ better the following morning. At least, Cor thought she was better than she had been immediately after returning from Galdin. She didn't seem to 'jump' so much, as Iris put it. Or, perhaps, it was no longer so stark because, out of all the iterations of Reina, all of them were tired and jaded. Hollow. But sometimes, if he watched her close enough, he could see her wake—if it could be called that, when she had never been asleep. It was just a flinch, a subtle shift in expression as she re-oriented herself, or a long sigh of resignation.

Later he heard from Ignis that she believed she 'reset' each time she made a mistake. Cor took that as a good sign. After all, if it had some connection to her perceived mistakes then she did have some control over it. He tried to keep that in mind.

It didn't always help.

The actual routine of each day didn't change much. Council still met regularly, Iris continued training her hunters, construction on the walls and expansion of power lines proceeded. Life went on.

But not even a blind man would have said it was the same.

Gone were the comfortable nights the four of them had spent around the dinner table. Gone was the banter. Gone were the smiles. No matter how they tried to reach out to her, Reina drifted further day by day, week by week, month by month. It was so much worse to know she wasn't doing it on purpose. Somewhere, behind the blank mask and tired eyes, she was crying out just to be heard.

But they couldn't.

What could he do? He trained with her when she wanted—which wasn't often. More frequently she trained on her own. She walked the halls on her own in the middle of the night. She sat on her own to take meals and gave up halfway through.

Sometimes he just went looking for her for his own sake. She was never going to believe it was really him, but Gods damn it, he  _missed_ her. And it wasn't fair that she was so close and so far away.

The training hall was empty early in the mornings, predictably, save for one person. It was where Cor expected to find her.

He paused in the doorway, watching the muscles in her arms and shoulders bunch as she made good use of the pull-up bar he had bolted across the back window. He gathered his words. Likely as not, she already knew what he was going to say.  _She_ knew what he was going to say, but he still had no idea.

"Planning to stand there all morning?" Reina finished her set and dropped from the bar, not turning around to look at him. He hadn't made a sound.

"I didn't want to—"

"If you weren't going to interrupt, you wouldn't have come down here looking for me." She picked up her towel from the ground, ran it over her face, and turned to face him.

Cor considered her for a moment, turning words over in his head. She didn't fill the silence. She didn't answer questions he hadn't asked. Did that mean she  _hadn't_ Dreamed this?

"Do you already know what I'm going to say?"

If she did, he could use a little help, because he sure as hell didn't.

Reina draped the towel over the back of her neck and met his gaze. "Yes. More or less, anyway. It changes, depending on what I tell you."

"I don't know what to say."

Again, she let the silence sit. She must have had plenty of time to decide what to say, but she let it just  _be_ for a moment.

Then: "You tell me you're worried about me."

"I  _am_  worried about you."

"I know." Reina gave him a tight smile. "And I wish I could fix it."

She looked like she  _did_ regret worrying him. He almost thought that meant she had stopped thinking of him as some shadow of himself—but no. After all, he couldn't imagine an alternate future in which he  _wasn't_ worried about her. Which served to reason that every Cor she met was worried, and therefore she knew that the real Cor was worried. She just didn't know which one he was.

Even though he was standing right in front of her.

Cor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was no good at this stuff—people, talking to them, sorting out magic that wasn't supposed to exist. In fact, there was only really one thing he  _was_ any good at.

But he was damn good at it.

"Do you need a sparring partner?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

That was enough of a yes for him—he elected not to ask whether that was just a turn of phrase or if she actually  _had_ thought he would fail to ask—so Cor stripped off his coat, tossed it in the corner of the room, and readied his practice blade.

She motioned for him to come at her and he saw no reason to prolong the conversation if she was through with it. After all, she had probably already explained herself to him multiple times. That, at least, was something he could relate to. He was sick of people after the first iteration of explaining proper form to the new batch of hunters; it was, he reasoned, much the same.

Cor went all in. He charged at her, his wooden practice blade held low and down to his side. She still hadn't moved—she wasn't even looking at him—but he had come to expect that from her. The day she had mastered phasing marked the day that he ceased to be a threat to her. Still, she had insisted on keeping up with the practice, often refusing to use magic as if she thought it was some sort of crutch. He admired her dedication to martial prowess.

He closed the distance between them. Once she was in range, he swept his blade up in a sharp arc. With his katana, the strike would have gutted any other opponent. Even the practice blade landing would have left angry red marks and lingering bruises. But it didn't.

As soon as he reached her, just at the last instant, Reina moved. She didn't flash in a blue shadow and appear elsewhere; the only magic she used was her own peculiar brand. When his blade came up, she simply wasn't standing where it sliced. It passed her by with less than an inch of clearance.

Cor hadn't expected to hit her. In fact, if the blow  _had_ landed, he would have been more surprised. He redirected the practice blade, swinging it around in a horizontal arc—mid-chest height for him was neck height for Reina. Again his sword passed her by harmlessly as she stepped just out of his range. Everything about the way she moved was precise and calculated—almost leisurely. That was different. So was the look on her face; before, every dodged strike had left her with a stunned and pained expression on her face—as if she hadn't expected to succeed in the first place—now she wore a look of calm focus. Nothing surprised her, anymore.

He never expected to hit her, but he kept trying anyway. Each sweep of his blade met nothing but air as it transformed into the next. She may as well not have been there at all, for all the good he was doing.

Reina leaned back as his practice blade cut through the air where her collarbone had been an instant before. She followed his motion, turning with his sword. It was so seamless, so immediate, that he hardly noticed what was happening at all.

Her palm connected with the dull side of his blade, as if to reinforce its momentum. She stepped forward, pivoting toward him with her back to his sword and her other hand outstretched toward him. He had put too much force behind the blow; he couldn't have reversed the motion if he tried. And try he did, once his brain caught up with her. She grasped his shoulder as he collected himself and turned the force behind his blade into a strike with his elbow. But she wasn't there. Just out of reach, again, she turned and caught him with her other arm around his neck. His hands went up in an automatic response to defend and protect, but she didn't try to choke him.

She tried to  _throw_ him.

She was half his size, but with just the right leverage—her hip in just the right spot as she twisted—his world spun. Then shook.

That was going to leave the whole left side of his body bruised.

Cor picked himself up off the ground. His practice blade had flown free of his grip and rolled halfway across the room. Reina stood, victorious but otherwise unchanged, a few feet away with her arms crossed.

"Well done," Cor said, because he hadn't told her enough when it mattered.

She said nothing.

"Does it actually help you at all to do this?" He dragged himself to his feet.

"Of course."

"Well, at least you've convinced me that no one will ever manage to surprise you."

"Only the first time." Reina glanced at the clock on the wall. Outside it was still dark, but the time might have been classified as morning, in other circumstances. "I need to go. Ignis is waking up."

Cor didn't ask how she knew exactly when Ignis was going to wake up. Presumably she knew because she had already been there.

"Reina—" He caught her arm as she passed. "What is it like… seeing everything before it happens?"

For a moment, when she turned, he caught a glimpse of emotion—sadness, longing, regret. Sometimes that happened, still. The only way Cor could reason it was that she was still tumbling around in time and every so often  _she_ experienced something for the first time along with everyone else.

"Lonely," she said, and she turned to walk away.

* * *

When Ignis woke, she was there. She usually was, even though every morning she woke hours before and left to haunt the halls, to train on her own, or simply to be… away from everyone else. Somehow she knew. She always knew when he would wake.

Ignis was aware of her presence, even as he stirred; the warmth in the bed beside him, the steady whisper of breath in the air.

She was already awake, as had become usual. Her fingers brushed his hair when his eye opened—a pointless reflex that his body would never outgrow.

"Good morning," Reina said.

Ignis shifted, reaching up to touch her hand and tracing the line of her arm back to her. She was dressed already; her shirt—just barely damp with perspiration—indicated that she had been awake for some time, already.

"Have I overslept?" He asked.

"It's just past seven."

Ignis' brow creased. He cupped her face in his hands, letting his fingers stray; she never objected to this, however peculiar it might have seemed to another—it was the only way he could guess at her facial expression. Usually it was pointless. Reina's face, like her voice, was so often neutral and unreadable, even to him. If she worried about things, she didn't tell him. She was drifting and it took her further away from him every day.

"Do you never sleep?" He asked.

Once, she had found solace in his arms. Once, when she had woken in the night he sensed it and rose with her. But these new Dreams of hers prevented that—she knew just how to move, just where to step, to avoid waking him. Maybe she thought she was doing him a favor by letting him sleep. She wasn't.

"You know I do," Reina said.

"I know that you lie down beside me at night. I know that when I wake, you have been awake for hours. I know that your sleep is often restless and disturbed."

Reina said nothing.

"If there is anything you would share with me, I would willingly bear the burden. If anything troubles you…" Ignis brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, trying to keep the plea from his voice.

"I…" Reina hesitated for a moment. "I do."

"No, Reina. You do not. You  _have_ not." Ignis bit back a sound of frustration. Those  _damn_ Dreams of hers—if she believed she had already told him everything worth sharing, then of course she wouldn't do so again. But just recently, he had thought—hoped—that her false memories were improving. Evidently, he was wrong.

Beside him, Reina tensed. He felt the twist of her brow beneath his hands, giving lie to her frustration—not, he suspected, at him, but at the situation as a whole.

"You know my mind, already. I worry about the same things I have always worried about: I worry that I am a poor leader for my people; I wonder how we will all make it through this darkness; I miss my father; and I miss my brother—and I fear for what happens to him, in the end." She listed them off—her deepest concerns—like a grocery list. No emotion, no connection, no reaching out to form that bond of empathy. She read them off as if she had done so a dozen times before and was tired of talking about them.

He supposed she must have been.

Ignis sighed, bowing his head. He wanted to help—to be needed—but perhaps the type of help he tried to give wasn't what she needed. If she needed to share, did it really matter if she did so to him or to some Dream of him? To her, it had the same benefit. The actual act of listening wasn't meaningful, except to him.

"And… Ardyn's words about the ring… and your father?" Ignis ventured, against his better judgement. "Do you think on them?"

"No," she said, her tone and expression that perfect calm that he had come to expect from her. Unreadable. Solid.

It could easily have been a lie; if she had known he would ask, she may have had dozens of chances to prepare her performance before he  _did_ ask. But no, he couldn't think that. He wanted to believe her. He  _needed_ to believe her.

"I… know you will choose what is best for this kingdom. And I hope that, if you should have need of me for anything at all, you will ask," Ignis said.

"I will," she said.

It remained unspoken, though understood, that she might well ask some other iteration of him; he would never know.

* * *

The months slogged by for all of them. It seemed they saw less of Reina every day, after Galdin. She stopped coming to the morning training that Iris held for the hunters, she stopped making her rounds in Lestallum to talk to the people, and she cut council meetings shorter by anticipating everyone's questions and responses before they were ever spoken.

No one really blamed her for any of that—who could, understanding what she was experiencing? Or, understanding as well as anyone else could. If she had each conversation over multiple times… it must have been easier just to not have them.

And, on the bright side, no one was worried about Reina's safety anymore. She had gone head to head with Ardyn and come out without a scratch on her. He  _couldn't_ hit her. She didn't even have to be paying attention; if she was constantly Dreaming she was going to see it coming anyway.

Sometimes she still came up to the roof when Iris was sitting. Usually they didn't say anything. She just came and sat next to Iris like they used to do, before.

Iris only looked at her, not breaking the silence. It was probably easier to forget that time was skipping around if no one was saying anything. Better that they just sit in silence.

Although… perhaps there was still a way to talk without ever speaking.

It occurred to Iris a month in. If she wrote something down, Reina wouldn't have to listen to it being said more than once. She might  _receive_ it more than once, but she would already know what it said, skipping over all the frustratingly repetitive parts.

The first time, Iris actually got a reaction. It didn't happen very often, but sometimes they experienced an event for the first time together, instead of in some sort of alternate reality. She just handed Reina the note and watched her unfold it.

She didn't usually smile, anymore.

Later, Iris just started pinning them to her door or slipping them underneath. That way she didn't even have to  _get_ it more than once. Probably. Iris wasn't quite sure how it worked.

Reina didn't always respond. Maybe she just got tired of rewriting her response, sometimes. Maybe she just  _thought_ she had, but never did. Either way, Iris was pretty sure she always read them. At least it worked one and a half ways.

So they had that. And they had quiet nights on the rooftop and silent dinners in the kitchen with the others. It was hard to talk to her. Sometimes she responded before someone was finished speaking. Sometimes she responded before they had even started. But sometimes, every so often, Reina seemed to stay in one time long enough to hold a proper conversation. She was still sad, she still wasn't sure if they were the  _real_ them or if she was still Dreaming, but she tried. And they tried. And it was enough, but only because it had to be.

Some mornings, Iris woke up to find a note slipped under  _her_ door. Those were the best mornings.

She sat down on the floor and read:

> _Iris—_
> 
> _I thought about strapping a camera to my head and walking away that way; then I could always look back and recall what had been said in this world. It might be an interesting exercise, but it can't give me what I want. I just wish I could tell which one was real. Recently I find myself wondering if it even matters. "Reality" has begun to lose its meaning. If I could just stay in one Dream, that would be alright… right up until I woke up two years ago and found I had to redo the whole thing._
> 
> _But that matters little._
> 
> _In case I forget: I should like to rebuild Galdin, albeit with some major modifications. However, the resources for that are currently held up with other projects, which take precedence. The loss of the port will be felt, however; we no longer have_ any  _coastal settlements under our control. We will need to compensate for loss of fish with new hot houses. Holly will have to tell us what sort of strain that will put the plant under. In the meantime, we are down one source of protein and I am open to suggestions on a solution. The canned goods will only take us so far._
> 
> _Do you remember how the sunset over Insomnia used to light up the whole city in orange and pink? I keep worrying I'm going to forget something. I suppose it's inevitable, eventually, but time runs faster now. I wonder how that affects my memory._
> 
> _Three years tomorrow. It feels like a decade, already_.


	33. Tipping Point

__

######  _17 May, 759:_

_If there is mercy in this world, you will let me live this day only once._

She pressed her palms to burning eyes and sat up. Her motions roused Ignis—as they always did, the first time—and he reached out to her.

"Reina?"

She didn't respond. Not—as was usually the case, now—because she had nothing to say to him that she hadn't already said, nor because she already knew everything he would or could say, but because she had no words to explain what or why except:

"May seventeenth."

Three years. Three years since her world had come crumbling down around her. Two years ago it had hurt to look back on. One year ago she had friends to dull the pain. Now it was so far removed, so foreign before jaded eyes, that it didn't even hurt. It didn't feel as if that life had ever been hers. Had she really ever been as happy as that girl in her memories? That girl had been whole—not just half of a pair, but complete even when she was away from Noct. That girl had known she would always see him tomorrow. That girl had a father. That girl had a home. That girl remembered what the sun felt like.

That girl lived life on the same timeline as her friends and family.

That girl could reach out, secure in the belief that someone else would always reach back.

That girl never worried that everyone around her would forget everything she told them.

Ignis sat up and wrapped his arms around her; she leaned against him. He was just a ghost, really. An imitation. But that was all she had, anymore.

His fingers grazed her face, searching for the tears she hadn't shed.

"I miss them so much…" she said.

"Your father and Noctis." It was more an observation than a question.

"Everyone." She leaned against the imitation and confided. He believed he was real, but it didn't matter; he wouldn't remember. They never did. "The pain for Father and Noct is just who I am. But I miss the others. Cor and Iris and Ignis… I never appreciate what I have when I have it."

"Reina. The rest of us are still with you."

"They're out there, somewhere. But I could never tell which is which… so all I can do is miss them."

She had never been so alone as in these last months. After Father had died she felt it. That had hurt like someone reaching into her chest and ripping out her heart; every breath, every beat, every second was pain. Now she didn't even have that ache. Now she was just numb and alone.

What she would have given just to reach one of them, again.

The echo of Ignis hugged her tighter, but he didn't say anything. Nothing he could say would make any difference; she was just grateful that she didn't have to listen to the same vacuous comforts over and over and over if he didn't try to give them.

It was true, of course, that he might have been the real Ignis, but she never would have known. What difference did it really make? Her dreams weren't fake; they weren't hallucinations. They were actual events that simply hadn't ended up happening on this path. It wasn't possible, anymore, to tell if there  _was_ a 'real' path or not. She wouldn't have even known what to look for.

Maybe Ardyn was right and she was always Dreaming. When was the last time that she had truly been awake?

It didn't matter.

She remained there, sitting in bed with him until it was time for council. The world still hadn't skipped back on itself, which was something of a relief. Ignis still remembered all the same things she remembered. He would probably forget, later, but at least, for a few hours, they were on the same path.

They went downstairs together, joining those waiting in the conference chamber; in a few more moments, everyone had gathered. Or, at least, everyone who was present in Lestallum.

They discussed the food stores and how long they had before the tinned food ran out. They calculated the necessary power to double their hot houses, and considered how to bring in so many meteorshards.

"Most of the major outposts have been restored, Your Highness," Holly said. "The Glaive have been instrumental in securing supply lines and keeping power routes clear of daemons. They also have an uncanny knack for finding meteorshards."

"How goes the progress with re-taking Caem?" Reina asked.

"Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get back in since the daemon attack, Your Highness," Holly said. "The powerlines just don't reach that far south, anymore—the daemons did a number on that area, going through. Even if we had the meteorshards to power Caem, there's no way to get electricity down there."

"Can new lines be laid?" Reina tapped her fingers on the tabletop, brow furrowing.

"It's  _possible_ , but workers would need protection and some way to carry the materials through rough terrain. Trucks won't cut it—not through those mountains," said Holly.

"The Glaive can provide the protection," said Cor. "But I can think of no good way to transport lines through the mountains."

Ignis touched Reina's arm. "Your Highness… the chocobos might provide a suitable substitute."

"Do we  _have_ access to any chocobos? I was under the impression that few were still surviving—the chocobo post was never recovered," Reina said.

"When I encountered Prompto naught but a day ago, he claimed that one had wandered back to Lestallum—there also seems a possibility that Wiz is still out there, carrying on his work."

She looked back to Holly. "Would a chocobo work?"

"Might just do the trick, Your Highness! Though I'd rather have more, I'll see what we can do with just the one bird."

"See it done," Reina said. "Cor, ensure that the Glaives are present to ensure the safety of the workers."

And it went on went on. Her council talked and Reina listened; she stored, she questioned, she reserved judgement but, for the most part, she didn't engage. Regardless of the fact that she  _hadn't_ woken so far, this morning, the habit was already cemented. It was more effort than it was worth to try.

"Your Highness?"

Reina blinked. Had they been speaking?

"I'm sorry, Cor, what did you say?" She forced herself to focus on him.

Cor hesitated a moment before speaking. "The ring. Have you grown any closer to unlocking more of its potential?"

Reina passed her fingers over the ring, unconsciously, twisting it on her finger. "No. Nothing I try has any effect."

"Perhaps… that is for the best." Cor glanced sideways at Weskham. What was it about her they discussed when she wasn't present?

Weskham cleared his throat. "Satisfying though it may be on a personal level, Cor, There are greater issues here. The ring provides a valuable resource—one that has been used in defense of Lucis for millenia. Is it not possible that the kings of old have left some note or reference?"

Those seated at the table exchanged glances, as if everyone was waiting for someone else to answer the question—all except Ignis, who looked nowhere at all.

"I fear the secret of the Ring of the Lucii was carefully guarded," Ignis said. "Only those closest to the throne understood that it was not mere myth and legend, and even then… I could not begin to grasp the scope of power contained therein until I wielded it, myself."

"But you  _are_ the only other who  _has_ worn the ring." Cor leaned forward. "Can you shed any light on this?"

Ignis shook his head. "I was granted power in exchange for my eyes, and that is all I know. I had strength unlike any on Eos for a brief time… it is not an experiment I care to repeat, given any other choice."

Reina twisted the ring, not looking at the others. Ignis had heard the voices of the kings of old, like she had, but  _he_ had been granted their power.

Across the table, Cor sighed and strummed his fingers on the top of the table. "If only there was someone else… but everyone who has worn the ring is gone, save you two."

Silence fell once more as they fell to musing Cor's words. The last of the Caelums, save Reina, was well out of their reach, by now.

But no.

That wasn't quite true, was it?

Reina looked up. One other person still on Eos had worn the ring. One other person still on Eos had sat on the throne.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum.

Maybe he  _did_ mean to toy with her, as she had thought all along, but the fact was that he  _must_ have known how to use the ring. A few months ago, the thought of asking him for help would have made her physically ill, but after months of fruitless efforts and frustrated stagnation…

And loneliness...

"Then that, I suppose, is that," Weskham sighed. "It may be that the power of the crystal is destined to ever be out of our reach."

"It seems so…" Reina said.

" _You could call on your father at will,"_ Ardyn whispered in her ear.

All she had to do was reach out and take his hand.


	34. Deal with the Devil

__

######  _17-18 May, 759:_

Every other time they had spoken, it had been at Ardyn's behest. She had avoided him actively, cringing from his presence and only engaging when it was absolutely necessary. He seemed to stage attacks across Eos, not because he cared about the people or craved the destruction—though that might well have been true—but because he was intent on drawing  _her_ out. But she couldn't very well wait for him to attack another settlement just so she could talk to him. Indeed, even if she had wanted to, it would have been dangerous; Ignis was always at her side and this was not a conversation she wanted him to overhear.

But there was one place Ignis couldn't follow.

Tonight, she Dreamed, not to see the future, but to see the present. They had spoken that way once before—she still didn't understand how, but it did seem to have happened—and they could do so again.

Tonight, she sought the Scourge, herself.

She might have guessed where she would find him, but it didn't make seeing Ardyn on her father's throne any less jarring. Even the throne room hadn't escaped the ruin of the city. The wall to Ardyn's right was crumbling; stone rubble from outside fell down across the steps that led up to the throne, leaving only one side traversable.

"Ah, little Dreamer. Checking in on me, are we? I admit, I have been remiss with keeping up—how long has it been since we had our last chat? Four months?" Ardyn looked up, but his eyes didn't immediately settle on her. He glanced over the ruined throne room, his gaze flicking here and there before finally finding her—or the place she would have stood, had she been present.

"Well, well, well…" Ardyn smiled, that dark, twisted smile. "We have been practicing, haven't we?"

Reina shifted and her body responded—the body that shouldn't have been connected to her. And yet, when she looked down, there she was: arms, legs, and all. She lifted a hand to her face; she could see Ardyn through it.

"Not  _quite_ there, yet," Ardyn said. "But I digress.  _Do_ regale me with tales of your life since Galdin. I must say, you were quite impressive in combat—I think in a few more years you might actually be a challenge."

"I'm not here to discuss that," Reina said.

"Oh? Well, then, pray tell, enlighten me." Ardyn spread his hands wide. "To what do I owe the honor of your royal presence?"

"I want to know how to control the ring."

"The ring?" Ardyn's smile twisted, growing wider by the minute. He leaned forward, putting his hands on the arms of her father's throne. "And why would I tell you about the ring, little Dreamer?"

"You know how to use it. You must have worn it, before."

" _Of course_  I know how to use it." He smile grew, if possible, wider still. "Let my rephrase my question:  _what will you give me_ if I teach you how to use the ring?"

Reina clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms to keep her hands from shaking. "What do you want?"

It started out as a low chuckle, like the rocks preceding a landslide. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

"Oh, little Dreamer, grown so big and still  _so small_ inside. You really are just a little girl who wants her daddy back, aren't you?"

Reina bit her lip, trying to keep her face blank. It was hard when every word sent daggers through her heart.

"Allow me to give you a tip…" Ardyn rose from the throne, putting his boot on the seat. "Never give the devil free-reign."

She ground her teeth together and forced herself to stand up straighter. She refused to prove him right. She wasn't a little girl—not anymore—too much had happened. She hardly even knew that girl, anymore.

"Just because I asked, doesn't mean I intend to give it to you. I don't even know if this is a Dream; I could promise you anything and in the morning you wouldn't remember a thing… but I would."

"Of course it's a Dream. What else would it be?" said Ardyn.

"I mean I may wake up and we never will have spoken, but I'll remember what you told me, anyway."

"However would you know?" Ardyn smirked. "You mean to tell me that, of all the futures you see, there's one where we are actually conversing at this moment? Don't be foolish, little Dreamer. You're not really here."

Reina fell silent once more. How  _would_  she ever know? Could she really gamble away everything on the off chance that he wouldn't remember this?

"But you asked me a question, and it would be remiss of me not to answer," Ardyn said.

"I won't help you harm my people."

"Your people? Don't make me laugh. I could not care less what becomes of them." He waved an unconcerned hand. "What I want is bigger. What I want is to see Them fail."

"Them?"

All trace of amusement faded from Ardyn's face. He turned his eyes on her and even from down the stairs she felt the force of his gaze. She fought the urge to step back.

"The Gods."

"You're mad." The words fell out before she could stop herself. He was waging war on  _the Gods?_

Ardyn's smile returned. "I'm only disappointed that it took you so long to notice."

"You seek revenge on  _the Gods_?" It sounded stupid just saying it aloud. The Gods weren't just some sort of magical monster, subject to the same sort of laws and whims as the rest of Eos; they were  _Gods_.

"For what they have done to me, I will see their carefully laid plans in ruins—you should want the same, little Dreamer… they have done much the same to you… and your father."

Reina shook her head. He couldn't honestly believe she would fall for his claims that she and he were alike.

Ardyn waved his hand again. "But this isn't what you came for. You want answers of a different kind—you want to see your dear father again. I can give you that… for a price."

And so they were back to this. Reina folded her arms over her chest; knowing that Ardyn's ultimate goal was—so far as he could be trusted—to foil any and all plans of the Gods made her no less wary of making a deal with him, but she  _had_ said she would do everything in her power to protect her people.

And she could see her father again…

"Name your price."

Ardyn's smile twisted, flashing teeth, extending in a black clown-like grin. He disappeared, leaving only a wisp of black fog to indicate he had been on the throne at all. The hairs on the back of Reina's neck stood up. She spun, and found herself face to face with him.

"Stop being their pawn." Ardyn turned a circle around her, holding her gaze as he walked. "Stop doing what they ask of you."

"They don't ask anything of me."

"No? Reina  _Lucis Caelum_? The bloodline that protects the crystal—the heart of Eos. You're so used to following instructions… you've forgotten that you do it at all." He was behind her again, half-stooped so his mouth was at her ear. His voice, barely a whisper, sent chills down her spine, but she faced resolutely forward. " 'Protect the crystal, Caelum,' 'give your life for the greater good, Caelum,' 'look into the future, Caelum,' 'watch your father die, Caelum,' 'sacrifice your brother,  _Caelum_ , like a good little  _pet_.' Aren't you tired of it all? Aren't you through being the  _good one_?"

Reina shut her eyes and dug her nails harder into her palms. That was just the way things were; the Lucian royal line safeguarded the future. They worked for the greater good. She preserved the future, not so that  _she_ could see the dawn at the end, but so that her people could.

" _Think about it, little Dreamer…"_  Ardyn's voice whispered in her ear, but he wasn't behind her anymore.

He was before her, the world shifting and changing around them. Colors blurred as crumbling walls rightened; the sky brightened, the sun rose, and time flowed in the wrong direction.

The throne room was gone. She wasn't even standing in the Citadel anymore. What she could see of the room around—walls made of grey stone blocks and floor of rough-hewn tile—didn't look familiar in the least. The same could not be said of the man who stood before her, his burgundy hair swept back without a strand out of place beneath his crown. His face was clean and open, he smiled and, though it didn't make Reina's skin crawl, there was no mistaking him.

His footfalls were the only sound in the room—in spite of the dozen people packed inside. He parted the crowd, moving toward a man who stood near the tall, wooden doors in the back. He walked past Reina, not seeming to notice her at all.

"Your Majesty—" The man clutched a staff to remain upright. His face was darkened on one side in a web-like patch, as if black blood flowed in his veins, and his words came out weak and breathy.

"Shh…" The king held a finger to his lips.

When he reached the man, he extended a hand and grasped the sickly man's shoulder. Ardyn wore a ring of black metal; the same one that Reina wore, an age later. It shone with daylight and, as Reina watched, the blackness receded from the sick man's face. He stood a little straighter, breathed a little deeper.

For a moment, Reina saw the same dark web—the same sickness—in Ardyn's face. Then it faded away, leaving him—apparently—no worse for the wear.

"T-thank you, Your Majesty!"

"Save your thanks; live your life with the blessing of the Gods." The king lifted his hand from the other man's shoulder.

"I will!" The man dropped into a low bow, took a few halting steps backward—no longer using the staff for support—and finally turned to walk down the long hall.

The king watched him go, not turning to face the men and women who lined the the walls of the narrow room. At length the doors shut behind the healed man. Only once the echoes had faded did one of the council speak.

"What is this sickness, Your Majesty?"

The king turned. "A plague. A scourge on our star." A murmur ran through the council. "But fear not, for I have been given the strength to heal them. Our kingdom will be whole; our people healthy."

He had been a healer… Reina could hardly believe the truth of her own Dream.

Before, she had thought of him only distantly as related to her—in word, but not actuality. It was difficult to imagine a man of his sort ever holding the throne or wearing the crown. Now she studied his steady gait, and she saw familiar pieces: the posture she had adopted, a tone any of the council of Insomnia would have bowed before, and the curve of his nose—just the same as another king she had once known and loved.

_What happened to him…?_

As if in response to her question, the world blurred around her once more. Colors rained down, blending and remixing; the walls shrank inward, and she found herself in a much smaller chamber. It was symmetrical—not circular, but hexagonal. From each side, the tiles pointed inward, meeting in the middle. In the center was the crystal, glowing faintly.

Behind her, the doors burst open. Reina turned to watch a group of four men barge in.

"Quickly! Bring him into the crystal's light!" Reina had never seen the man at the front, before, but he was familiar to her, somehow. He had the same burgundy hair as Ardyn, the same proud nose as her father. He was young, but he carried himself well.

Behind him came two more men bearing a third between them. The third man's head sagged; his feet dragged. He wore a silver crown, reminiscent of the horn of Bahamut, and a black ring upon his finger. When they passed her, Reina heard the wheezing of his breath.

They brought him to the base of the crystal; his legs wouldn't support his own weight, so they left him kneeling on the floor before backing away.

He remained where he was deposited, the backs of his hands dragging on the floor, his head still bowed as he struggled for air.

"The Gods will cleanse him. They  _must_  cleanse him." The first man hovered nearby, only a few feet away. His posture didn't waver, but the look in his eyes gave lie to the worry inside.

For a moment, everything was still and silent. The crystal remained unchanged and every person in the room held their breath—all but Ardyn, whose gasping breaths could be heard echoing off all six walls. At length he lifted his head and Reina saw a face she recognized.

Darkness lined his mouth and eyes, dripping down like black ink—it was the Starscourge, but so far beyond anything she had ever witnessed, as if the black ichor that tainted its victim's blood had replaced every ounce of liquid in his body. His skin was sallow, his cheeks hollow. His voice, when it finally came, rasped in his throat.

"By the light of the crystal, cleanse me of this scourge, so that I might… continue my work." He lifted his hand slowly, as if it was too heavy, and held his palm out toward the crystal.

The light inside the crystal swelled, throwing long shadows in the room, but it didn't reach the same brilliance it had—would?—when it had called Noctis inside.

_:Ardyn Lucis Caelum…:_

The voice sounded in the chamber, booming and ubiquitous, and several of the men took a step back from the crystal. It was a voice Reina had heard before, but only in her Dreams.

Bahamut, the Draconian.

_:Thou hast been tainted. Not even the light of the crystal can undo thy depravity, for thou hast become that which thou sought to destroy. Let it be known that thou hast broken thy vow to the Six. Thou hast failed to uphold thy side of the bargain; thou shalt bathe in the light of the crystal no longer.:_

On Ardyn's hand, the Ring of the Lucii glowed, then vanished.

Ardyn's eyes widened. "My Lord Bahamut—"

_:Somnus Lucis Caelum, thou art given the chance to right the wrongs of thy kin.:_

In a twinkling of light, the ring reappeared, hovering in the air before the man with Ardyn's hair and a king's bearing. He stared at it for a moment, eyes round and lips parted, before finally extending his hand. The ring dropped into his palm; the light faded; he closed his fingers around it.

"Bahamut—!" Ardyn's cry was cut off by a fit of coughing. Inky black liquid escaped from his mouth as he doubled over.

_:Do not disappoint us.:_

The light from the crystal faded.

The men at the door looked between the brothers, uncertain of whom to address. "Your… Highness…?"

For a moment Somnus remained frozen, the ring clutched to his chest as he stared at his brother.

Ardyn looked up at him, wiping black liquid from his lips and smearing it across his face. "Please, Somnus… Call the light… Cleanse me..."

Somnus stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Ardyn.

"The Gods have deposed my brother. From this point on,  _I_ am King Somnus Lucis Caelum." He stooped, reaching out to Ardyn and removing his crown. He turned toward the others, affixing it behind his own ear. "And you will address me as Your Majesty."

At the door, the men glanced from Somnus to Ardyn and back, before finally taking a knee. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Somnus—Brother—!" Ardyn reached out to him, but Somnus stepped out of reach, causing him to overbalance and fall on his shoulder.

"This creature is beyond redemption. See that he is disposed of before he grows horns." Somnus spared only a fleeting glance for Ardyn before he swept past and out the door.

" _Somnus!_ " Ardyn's scream echoed through the room. His words followed her even as the world dissolved once more. " _Damn you, Somnus!_ "

Reina shut her eyes, trying to block out the sights and sounds.  _They abandoned him. He fought to heal his people and they abandoned him._

When she opened her eyes again, the crystal was gone, as was Ardyn and the Citadel. She lay in bed in Lestallum, her hands stinging from where her nails had left little crescent-shaped cuts in her palms.

And she knew how to use the ring.


	35. The Price

__

######  _18 May, 759:_

Though she had spoken to Ardyn in a Dream, she felt certain that he would remember it. In fact, when she woke, she had been left with the distinct impression that he had expected her to come to him all along. Why else had he spent four months waiting, not sending his daemons out, not attacking, not provoking, not seeking her? He had  _known_ she would come to him, whether he had meant for her to lose control of her waking Dreams or not.

She twisted the Ring of the Lucii on her finger and heard his words lingering in her mind like a memory etched in the surface of her brain:

" _The power you desire sleeps behind a wall of Lucian spawn. The 'Kings of Yore' are pedigree hounds, bred for but one purpose._ You  _hold the leash, right there on your hand. Would you prostrate yourself before a dog and beg for its aid...? Or would you exert your will and prove yourself dominant? Force them to bow to you."_

Force them.

She shouldn't have made a deal with him. Though she had gotten the answers she wanted, she was loath to use them. If she did, wasn't that committing to this bargain?

_I promised him_ nothing _._

She tried to convince herself that she hadn't—that she had woken with this knowledge without having given him anything in return—but it didn't matter. All he had needed to do was put the idea in her mind… and now she couldn't escape it.

" _Protect the crystal, Caelum."_

Wasn't that was what the Gods had demanded of the first king and every one thereafter?

" _Give your life for the greater good, Caelum."_

Whose greater good were they actually serving?

" _Watch your father die, Caelum."_

The Gods had never lifted a finger to protect those who gave their lives, century after century.

" _Sacrifice your brother, Caelum."_

Reina shut her eyes. How had she not seen it before? She had known Noctis would give his life  _for the greater good_ , for the Gods damned  _future_ , since she was fourteen. Not once had she questioned. Not once had she wondered if it was right or reasonable. She had just bumbled along, following the path the Gods had laid before her and every Caelum preceding her.

They took  _everything_  and they gave nothing in return.

She looked at the ring once more.

" _Use it, little Dreamer_ ," Ardyn whispered in her ear. " _But use it on your own terms_."

Reina clenched her hands on the balcony railing. She couldn't decide if the voice she heard in her mind was her own or Ardyn's, but did it really matter? What she wanted hadn't changed. The only thing that had changed was her ability to do something about it.

_If I use the ring, I'll be playing into his hands_ …

She smoothed her thumb over the ring's setting. How many times had she looked at that same ring on her father's hand, and wish she could take the weight for him?

_I could see him again_.

Wasn't that what she had been wishing for? Three whole years had passed and not a day went by that she didn't wish to see him again, to speak to him. He had always been the one she could confide in, the one she trusted, the one who had all the answers. She could use some answers, now, with the world falling apart around her and everyone else out of her reach.

The ring bound her to the energies of Eos. She could sense each little strand, if she felt for them. She knew where each of the Glaives were, as they shared her magic—but she had always felt those links. Now that she knew what to look for, though, there were other strands as well.

She knew where the crystal was. It was still too far away to use—out of her grasp and behind a wall of daemons.

But more than that—a hundred more lines bound her up to every corner of Lucis. They didn't point her to a single source—the souls of the Lucii weren't restricted to exist in one locality, like mortals—and so she hadn't noticed them before. It was more like a fog: difficult to see, in the wrong light, and impossible to grasp. That didn't mean she couldn't call on them.

Here was the soul of the Mystic—King Somnus—that same king who had cast Ardyn aside for the crown.

Here was Queen Crepera, the Rogue. Here Tonitrus the Fierce.

And here was whom she was looking for. Faint, like a smattering of cobwebs, but when she found it she  _knew_. It felt like home. She wrapped up in the strands, her own soul tangling until she could barely tell what was her and what was him.

_Father?_

The countless strings wrapped into a single cord, still knotted around her, and shortened.

And she was home.

" _Reina…"_ It was his voice—not her own imaginings, not wishful thinking, but  _him_.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot, and fell from her chin, but she felt only distantly connected to her body—like in a Dream. She wove a new one for herself, the same way she had done when she had spoken with Ardyn, only this time she did it on purpose. Then she took the light—the formless energy—and shaped it into him. It  _was_ him—as she remembered him in sharp detail—with only one change; he had never looked so healthy, while he was alive.

Her new cheeks were damp with tears, as well. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed them away.

"My dear, what have you done?" He sounded perplexed—if not amazed—rather than disapproving. "I am not meant to have form any longer."

She grasped his hands, holding on. She meant never to let go, this time. He was solid and warm and  _real_ ; his skin was real skin, everything about him was  _real_.

"You did when I first put on the ring," Reina said.

He smiled, but it was melancholy. "I did that myself and… perhaps it was unwise. I expended much to do so."

"I want you to be real," she said.

"Reina, my child…" He wiped away the fresh tears that fell down her cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to think better of it. His lips twisted in indecision; it was the look she was used to seeing on his face when she told him she would rather be with him than her school friends.

"I cannot exist in the physical world, not as I was before. You know this," he said at last, though he sounded regretful.

Reina shook her head, vehement, trying to blink back tears to no avail. "Please don't leave me again, Father. Not when I just found you."

"Ah, Reina…" The look of anguish on his face was such that she was preparing to form a lie—to tell him it would be alright, after all, just to make him happier—but he didn't give her the chance. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She tucked beneath his chin, feeling comfortably small again. The familiar scent of cedar and clean linen met her nose as she wrapped her arms around him. She was  _home_. "A part of me will  _always_ be with you. And though you must go back and I cannot accompany you, you  _have_ called me. I see no reason why you should not be able to do so at will."

She pulled back enough to look up at him. The tears slowed as his words sank in. He wasn't telling her that she had to say goodbye again; he was only saying that he couldn't come back with her. But if she could still see him merely by weaving this Dream-like realm…

"Whenever I want?"

"Whenever, wherever, and as often as you need, I shall be here."

"I'll always need you."

"Now  _that_ , I do not believe." He smiled, smoothing her hair back from her face. "My dear, you have grown  _so much_. Though this darkness stretches, I have watched light spread across Lucis from above— _your_ light—as your people work together to power the kingdom. That is your doing."

Reina opened her mouth to tell him it wasn't—that the Glaive had been working on the power problem under Monica's direction—but he laid a finger over her lips.

"I know you do not believe this, but I could not have left Lucis in better hands. Words cannot express how proud I am to call you my daughter."

This time when the tears fell, it wasn't for fear or sadness.

When was the last time she had cried in joy?

"Continue as you have." He dried those tears as well. "Call when you need me… and know that I will be with you always."

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. Part of her didn't believe this  _wasn't_ a Dream—everything else seemed to be, after all—but the rest of her  _wanted_ to believe it was real so desperately that it drowned the rest out. She could speak to her father whenever she wanted. When she couldn't sleep at night, she could bring him back. She could tell him everything—all about Ignis and Cor and Iris and everything else that had happened in the past year—and whenever she had questions she could just ask.

She wasn't alone, anymore.

Reina might have stayed there indefinitely; distantly, she registered that the real world was waiting for her, but here she was safe. Here she didn't have to be a queen or a princess or the commander of armies. Here she could just be Reina.

" **Reina?"**

She blinked. She was standing on the balcony outside of her room in Lestallum. Panic rose in her chest. Had that just been a dream? Had she fallen asleep standing up and somehow dreamed the thing she wanted most in the world?

But it had seemed so  _real_. Just like all of her Dreams.

_Father?_

There was no response in her mind. No voice whispered in her ear, assuring her that he was with her, that she hadn't imagined the whole thing. It was the same as before; when the visions from the ring had faded, she had always wondered if it had happened at all.

She reached inside herself, looking for the strands of energy. They were easier to find, the second time. Now that she knew what she was looking for, they seemed to leap at her call. She  _could_ bring him back. It was right there—she could do it whenever she wanted!

Reina let out a breath.

_We'll speak soon, Father…_

"Reina? Is something amiss?"

She turned to see Ignis standing in the doorway. She had almost forgotten that he had called her in the first place, though that was what had broken her from the reverie.

"No…" Reina looked at the ring on her hand, then cradled it against her chest. "I think… everything is alright."

If this was real, then whatever price Ardyn asked for it, she would pay.

* * *

That night she fell asleep in her father's room in Insomnia. For the first night in over a year, she dropped off easily—secure and wrapped up in his arms, breathing in the scent of cedar and clean linen and  _home_.

But once full sleep took hold, Ardyn came to her.

It was more a Dream than a dream; that was the sensation, and the memories that she formed of it afterward. But this place they stood in wasn't any place at all. It was the crossroads that she took from place to place—the constant eb and flow of time and space that she crossed night after night to read the future or—occasionally—the past.

And Ardyn stood before her, silent, unmoving, just waiting for her to speak.

"You were a healer." It was almost an accusation, half disbelieving, falling from her lips before she could stop herself.

He smiled faintly, seeming farther away than he should have been while standing right in front of her. "Yes."

"Did you mean for me to see that?"

"Oh yes." His smile deepend.

Not for the first time, she wondered if he could manipulate what she could see. If so, could she ever trust her visions?

"Did you force me to see it?" She asked.

"I only showed you which path to take; you are the one who chose to walk it."

"Then you can change what I see."

For the first time, his eyes actually focused on her. "Don't be a fool, little Dreamer. When you look to the past, you see the truth—precisely as it occurred. I could no more change that than I could…" He smiled again. "Forgive Them for the wrongs done on this world."

Bahamut had called him 'the Accursed,' and 'the Usurper.' He had neglected to mention he was the one who had cursed him—and as for the second…

"The throne was meant to be yours…" Reina said.

"Indeed." That distant smile, again. "How peculiar, wouldn't you agree, that they call  _me_ the Usurper. I would have awarded the title to Somnus."

He spoke as if he had read her mind. And Somnus—

Somnus was the Founder King. Somnus Lucis Caelum, the Mystic, the first Caelum that they had historical account of and  _Ardyn_  was his brother. His older brother.

He must have been well over two thousand years old.

Reina shook her head, backing away from him into the blackness all around. "This doesn't excuse what you have done."

"No?" He smiled unpleasantly.

"No. The whole world doesn't deserve to die for your revenge."

"Oh, little Dreamer. How little you know."

The sound of his laughter echoed in her mind long after he had faded into the darkness, leaving her once more adrift in the un-place between worlds.


	36. Black Dreams

__

###### _19 May, 759:_

After that night, he walked in her Dreams, whispering in her ear:

"We're the same, you and I."

Every night he came; each time she fell out of that In-Between place where she curled up with her father's spirit and fell into true sleep. Ardyn knew, of course, that she had used the ring. And regardless of what she had or had not promised him, he would have his dues.

He was everywhere and everything else was darkness. It curled in tendrils, like the black mist that now covered Eos, and swirled around the pair of them. No matter where she turned, no matter where she moved, he was there.

"No…" She backed away, keeping her eyes on his, and still she ran into him.

"No? Come, little Dreamer… you know it's the truth. All we ever tried to do was help… and they  _fucked us_ for nothing." Ardyn was at her ear, his voice sending a chill down her spine.

Reina pulled away. "I would  _never_ do what you have done."

"No?" He grinned and black ichor dripped from his lips. "Perhaps you wouldn't… but only because Father-dear wouldn't like it."

He vanished into the darkness.

"What would you do…" He whispered in her ear, but when she turned he wasn't there. Always, she heard his voice as if he hung just above her shoulder. "...If he was really gone? If his spirit wasn't in the ring. If he wasn't watching every move you made…?"

Reina clenched her fists, resolutely  _not_ turning around to try and find him. "I would do the same thing I am doing now."

"Would you? You know it's Their fault. The Gods asked for his life."

"He died to protect Lucis—and the future." Reina stared into the darkness. Ardyn materialized out of it.

"He died because they needed his death to pay for mine." He turned a slow circle around her. She didn't follow him; it was a pointless game and she wasn't going to play.

"Then it is  _your_ fault that he is gone."

"And do you know why they need  _me_ dead?" He stopped beside her, leaning over her.

"Because of what you've done."

Ardyn tsked. "You are being obstinate on purpose, little Dreamer. Look  _deeper_."

Deeper? Deeper than him killing millions for his own amusement?

But that wasn't quite true… He had never cared about the people he killed except the Caelums. The Gods didn't want him dead because of his revenge. They wanted him dead because of what he was. The tainted king. The Accursed.

"Because you have the scourge."

"Warmer!" Ardyn had circled back around to stand in front of her. Now he bent forward, putting his hands on his knees and levelling his gaze at her—as if she were a child. "I don't  _have_ the scourge. I  _am_ the scourge."

Reina's brow furrowed. What did he mean he  _was_ the Starscourge? He was a Caelum and a Lucian; she had seen him in a Dream, before he had been tainted. He couldn't have been the scourge.

"Ah, the Starscourge." He straightened abruptly, spreading his hands. "The darkness that plagues their perfect little world. When I healed the sick, I took it into myself. I took so much of it into myself… much more than any person had any business trying to contain. It ate me away from the inside. Any lesser man it would have consumed utterly—transformed into a daemon like so many others. But a Caelum has magic of his own. I took it and I twisted it as much as it twisted me. You think this is really my face? You think I'm still  _human?_ Silly girl. I  _am_ the Starscourge—I am the seed that taints the world. The  _Lucian_ royal line might drive back the darkness… but always it would live on within  _me_."

Her head swam. She was disinclined to believe anything he told her, no matter the context, but it made  _sense_. Every time a king had pushed back the dark it had returned. And here he stood before her as proof of his own words—he may have looked human, but he was more a daemon than even Aldercapt had been.

"Now tell me, little Dreamer, where did the Starscourge come from?"

"I don't know."

"It came from  _the Gods_."

What?

Reina shook her head. "You're lying. Why would they make this plague and then try to stop it?"

"Because they realized it was a mistake. Because they meant to punish man's hubris… and it got out of hand. Because their own creation—much like humankind—had grown too powerful. And it was killing  _everything_."

Still, she shook her head. "I don't believe you. No one knows where the Starscourge came from."

"No one left alive, perhaps." Ardyn grinned that unsettling black grin. "But you… you aren't limited by the bounds of time, are you? Why don't you look for yourself?"

Look? Look where? Two thousand years back and more, to the fall of Solheim? That was further than she had ever Dreamed… but she  _had_ seen Ardyn and Somnus…

"Run along, little Dreamer… I'll be here. Waiting."

Ardyn dissolved into the black mist. Then the mist, itself, began to evaporate. The darkness dimmed—becoming less stark and more real, less empty and more physical, until she was staring up at the ceiling above her bed in the long night.

" _Don't take my word for it…"_ Ardyn's voice whispered in her ear.

Reina let out a breath, pressing her palms to her eyes. She woke, much as she usually did after an intentional Dream, completely lucid and with no doubt in her mind that what she had seen had actually happened. Tonight, however, it was different. Tonight Ardyn had come to  _her_. How was it that he walked in her Dreams, when she hadn't even meant to find him? Did he have some power similar to hers?

It would explain how and why he knew so much about her.

She shook her head. Beside her, Ignis slept on—a glance at the bedside clock told her it was only three in the morning. And while such an hour certainly hadn't prevented her from rising from bed in the past, she elected not to. What she really needed was to talk to someone. Someone she trusted; someone who knew about magic and how it worked.

She glanced at the ring on her hand and shut her eyes, again.

It was easy, now; like sliding a peg into a hole. She could build a whole world with a thought, but she didn't need that much. All she wanted was one familiar room and one familiar face. He always came when she called. It didn't matter to a ghost that it was three in the morning. It didn't even seem to matter that they had spoken last only a few hours ago.

"Reina." Her father wore that comfortable smile—the way he had always looked when she had come home from school, except without the fatigue behind it.

He sat in one of the wingback armchairs in the lounge attached to his bedroom. The room itself materialized around him, down to the last detail: the bookshelf full of scarcely-read but well-kept books, including a hand-bound manuscript that had been there for as long as Reina could remember; the needlepoint, still in a hoop, of a black cat and a barrel of flowers, discolored with time; the pictures of Reina and Noctis; two tiny handprints alongside a much larger one pressed into clay and fired—somewhere there was a box full of keepsakes and silly arts and crafts they had made for him over the years, but only a few were out on display.

Reina stood before him, cleaner and more well-kempt than she had been in over a year. She hadn't really noticed how poorly her attempts to present herself had failed until she had something to compare it to. Then again, her appearance wasn't really the foremost subject on her mind, recently.

"What is it?" Her father sat forward in his chair, a furrow forming on his brow.

She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes flicked around the room—this place had always meant home to her: it was safety and it was comfort. Now, knowing it was just a construct of her own mind, she couldn't help but wonder how secure it actually was. If Ardyn could visit her Dreams, could he find this place? It was an unsettling possibility.

"What do you know about the Starscourge?" Reina ran her hands down the front of a dress that didn't exist anymore. It felt real.

"More than I did in life." He sat back in his chair, motioning her forward. "Come. I shall tell you what I can."

Reina didn't sit in the empty chair across from his; she dropped into his lap and tucked her feet up as she curled against him. He wrapped his arms around her and she felt like a child again, sitting with him. It didn't matter how old she grew or how much changed, he always managed to do that to her. Just now, she appreciated it. Children didn't have entire civilizations looking to them for guidance and hope.

"The scourge is, in the most generic sense, a plague. It infects people like a virus and, if left untreated, can have terrible results. Most diseases can do no more than cause death. This one causes transformation; like a parasite, it takes control of humans and animals, and morphs the creature into a daemon.

"The infected are the cause of this darkness, indirectly; in the advanced stages of the scourge, creatures—including the daemons they eventually become—exude miasma: a black mist that serves both as a carrier for the Starscourge itself, and taints the environment to better suit it. The more afflicted there are who walk the earth, the more miasma—and therefore the longer nights and dimmer days—and the more miasma there is, the more vulnerable survivors become to infection.

"In all the centuries that our family has reigned, no cure has ever been found, save for the Oracle's magic. By her light, the darkness was held back; blessings given to the land could deter daemons and her hands laid on the infected could cure them before the scourge grew too advanced."

Parts of what he told her she had already known; that the Starscourge was a plague upon Eos was common knowledge—at least in Lucis. But parts were new. What she really wanted to know, however, was excluded.

"Where did it come from?" She didn't look up; she just remained tucked underneath his chin, listening to the familiar timbre of his voice.

"That I do not know. As far as my knowledge stretches, it is not a question that any know the answer to, save, perhaps, the Gods themselves."

Reina shifted. It wasn't the answer she had been hoping for. She still couldn't believe what Ardyn had said, but she couldn't discount it, either.

"How do we stop it?" She asked, instead.

Her father shook his head. "That, I believe, is a question you already know the answer to."

Noctis' death. It was the secret she had kept from her brother for six years before he was drawn into the crystal; by now he must have known—whatever 'now' meant, for him.

"But other people have fought it—our own history tells tales of kings driving back the darkness." Reina sat up and looked at him.

"Indeed; at great cost to themselves and never were they successful in exterminating it."

"But they  _did_ push it back—each time it took ages to return."

"Reina." He smoothed his hand over her hair and left it there, fixing her with a serious gaze. She couldn't have looked away from that if she wanted to. "I know what it is you are thinking. Believe me when I say that every idea—every possibility—has already crossed my mind. For fifteen years I sought a way to save his life. Perhaps I could have sacrificed myself when I was younger—while I was still strong enough to push back the dark—but I would only have bought Noctis' life at the cost of the future. Without him, the Starscourge will return, time and again. Future generations will suffer and, with the end of the Oracle's line, it may well prove disastrous. The Gods have laid their plans with care; it is beyond us to seek to meddle."

_Gods? What Gods? The same beings who would condemn an innocent man to twenty centuries of suffering? The same beings who have thrust the weight of the world on our shoulders for two thousand years?_

Something of the rebellion in her heart must have showed on her face, because his expression grew stern and he said, "Have you grown so proud in my absence to believe you know better than the Gods?"

Reina dropped her gaze and tugged at the hem of her dress. "No, Father."

_I should just walk my path, like I'm meant to._

All of this—even questioning—was precisely what Ardyn wanted. He was a snake, poisoning her mind and her Dreams at night. Everything he said was either a lie or a carefully framed half-truth, why did she give any weight to his words? That claim that the Gods had created the Starscourge was the fabrication of a madman. No one knew where the scourge had come from.

Her father sighed. He caught her chin and lifted her face to look at him.

"My last moments I spent wishing I had been a better father to you and regretting all the moments we would never share. Now you give me a second chance and I waste it by scolding you," he said.

"You are a wonderful father—!"

He silenced her with a finger over her lips. "I fear that you will never convince me of the nonexistence of my shortcomings. Know, then, that what I want—what I have always wanted—is a joyful life for you and your brother. Noctis… his fate is what it is… and I have done what I could to ensure he had the life he wanted  _before_. If you were to do this thing, you would have no chance at even that—no chance to have a future with Ignis, no chance to raise children in a world with neither Starscourge nor daemons, no chance to see a Lucis without a Wall. So promise me that you will not try to drive back the darkness for the short term gain."

What she said was: "I promise, Father."

What she thought was:  _But I would be with you._


	37. Selfless

__

###### _19-24 May, 759:_

Though the reunion with her father meant Reina could fall asleep more readily, even on her darkest nights, Ardyn's ubiquitous presence in her Dreams meant what sleep she did get was hardly restful.

She felt no more connected to the real world than she had been before, even though the third anniversary of the Fall marked her first day without a waking Dream—or at least without waking—in four months. Perhaps she  _could_ have engaged again. But she would much rather have spent that time with her father, instead.

So she slipped through the days, one by one, waiting for the nights and the little lulls between bursts of activity where she could close her eyes and find herself in Insomnia. It must have been six calendar months ago, by now, that she had told Iris she would have been better off letting Clarus go. It was true. But the knowledge that she was trading live friends for a dead one and the understanding that she would have been happier if she hadn't didn't make her willing to stop.

Her father had more to give than emotional comfort, however. She justified her decision by telling herself it was helping the kingdom. If she hadn't reached out and pulled him back, if she hadn't asked Ardyn how to do it, none of them ever would have learned what the strange metal discs that the Glaives brought back from the royal tombs meant.

The first of them came from the Tomb of the Just—a circle of metal just bigger than Reina's palm. On one side was a shallow and intricate design, not unlike those they had encountered in ruins dating back to Solheim. On the other side was a single, distinct symbol.

All Reina had to do was shut her eyes for a moment, drop into that Dream-like place, and ask her father.

And she knew.

"The symbol inscribed here is the Sigil of the Just," Reina recited his words, tracing the sign on the disc before she pushed it across the council table toward Cor. "The artifact is, for lack of a better word, his anchor in this world. The ring binds the souls of the Lucii—preventing them from passing to the Realm Beyond—but the sigil gives them a stepping stone, of sorts, for channeling their power in the physical world. It is, as you may have noted, inert. As it stands, the sigil is not empowered by The Just. I suspect this is because Lucis' current king is dormant."

"What does it do, when empowered?" Ignis asked.

"It empowers. Much as the ring lends the strength of the Lucii to bearer—if he or she is deemed worthy—this sigil might lend the strength of The Just to one whomever is marked with it."

"With the same price?" Cor asked.

"That would depend on the disposition of The Just. In any case, the point is moot; it does nothing, in this state," Reina said.

"Can you activate it?" Cor asked. "You have the ring. You have the royal blood. Does it truly need the Chosen King in order to work?"

"I suspect that would require a certain level of cooperation from the Lucii, which I currently do not have."

But of course, if she could call on her father, couldn't she call on the others?

The possibility that this was what Ardyn wanted her to do held her back. The fact that, undeniably, having their cooperation  _would_ behoove Lucis tempted her.

She vacillated for days. Ardyn didn't alone; invariably, whenever she slipped from the Dream-like trance where she sat in a place untouched by time and drank spiced tea with her father, Ardyn was waiting for her. Sometimes it was that same un-place as before: just blackness and smoke and his twisted grin drifting in and out of existence. Sometimes he appeared in her normal dreams.

On a beach where the sun still shone, though the land crumbled away beneath it, he found her.

" _Naughty, naughty, little Dreamer. Dreaming normal dreams like a normal little girl. You should be looking at Solheim…"_

His voice appeared before he did. And all at once the dream became less solid. Regular dreams always seemed real while you were in them—unless you tried to think about them. Then they dissolved and you noticed that all the pebbles on the ground were shaped the same or you realized how strange it was to be having lunch with the Emperor of Niflheim. That happened now.

Where once there had been empty space, now  _he_ was there.

"Don't you want to know the truth?" He asked.

"I don't need to see the past to know that you are a liar and a snake."

"Well  _of course_ I'm a liar. But the only way to be a convincing liar…" He leaned closer to her, but she didn't lean back. They were practically nose to nose; he smiled an unpleasant smile and blackness leaked from his mouth. "Is to pepper in the truth, now and then."

If she wasn't so loath to touch him, she might have shoved him back. Instead she set her jaw and met his gaze, ignoring the way her skin crawled in close proximity to him.

"What possible good would it do me to lie to you and encourage you to prove me wrong?"

"You've already proven you can manipulate my dreams. How could I ever trust that what I see isn't what you make me see?"

Ardyn threw his head back and laughed. At least that moved his face away from hers and gave her some breathing space.

"Oh little Dreamer—you really have no idea how it works, do you?"

Reina didn't respond; she kept her face carefully neutral, refusing to let her thoughts show. He knew how her Dreams worked; she had already guessed that much, but if he knew she didn't—if he knew she  _wanted_ to know—he would only use it against her. Then again, perhaps he was already doing that.

"So solemn! Well, since I can see you're just  _dying_ to know, I'll let you in on my secret…" He was back, nose-to-nose with her once more. "I can walk in the In-Between, too. Whenever you're  _here_ , I can find you. I can  _see_ you. I watched you have tea with Father-dear just now."

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. If Ardyn could see her in this place, he could hear everything she said to her father—he could appear at anytime.

"I see he doesn't have the answers you want…" Ardyn grinned. "But I do. All you have to do is  _open your eyes_."

Invariably she woke, frustrated and afraid, and ran back to her father's arms until the day called her back to her duties.

Her waking-Dreams hadn't stopped completely, but they came in ebbs and flows, now. Some days, like the anniversary, she didn't Dream at all. Other days time flickered before her, a knot of possibilities weaving all around.

From her balcony, she watched people pass below like shadows. Then the world stuttered and she watched them pass below again. She watched the shadow of a spindly old woman carrying a crate of cans stumble, watched the shadow of the cans topple and spill. Then she watched the woman stumble and heard the crash as two dozen cans rolled in different directions.

Ignis appeared beside her and afterward he opened the door to their shared rooms and entered.

" _Reina…"_ The voice whispered in her ear, rolling over her skin like oil. " _Have you looked, yet, little Dreamer?"_

It came from nowhere and everywhere, just like when he walked in her Dreams. But she was awake, wasn't she...?

Then again, what did 'awake' mean, anymore? When the world stopped and started, leapt and stuttered, how could she ever claim she was awake? Now it seemed he was in her mind all the time. Or else she was going completely mad and hearing him, regardless of whether or not he was present.

"Go away…" she whispered, shaking her head as if to jar him out of it.

"I—if that is what you want…"

Reina's eyes snapped open in time to see Ignis turning away from her.

_Shit_. How had she forgotten he was there?

She reached out, catching his arm. "Not you."

Ignis halted, turning back toward her.

"Who?" He asked.

She hesitated. What was she supposed to tell him? That she had gone seeking Ardyn in her Dreams and ever since he had been coming into hers? That in return for the chance to see her father again, she had listened to his poisonous lies about the Gods and her family? That on those days when she drifted a little farther from reality, Ardyn broke free from her Dreams and seemed to walk in her  _mind_?

"It's… no one," Reina said. "Just ghosts."

Whatever conclusion Ignis drew from that, it at least convinced him that she hadn't meant to send  _him_ away.

" _They will use you like they used your father and your brother… but you can break the chain, little Dreamer…"_

Reina ground her teeth together, thankful that Ignis couldn't see her expression. Lies. Everything Ardyn whispered in her ear was a lie. The Gods demanded great sacrifice from the Caelums, that was true—but it was for the greater good. They knew the path better than she did. They could see the bigger picture; they could direct their servants on Eos as was necessary.

For the greater good.

She didn't need to Dream about Solheim; she knew the Gods hadn't created the Starscourge. And when the nagging doubts in the back of her mind grew too loud, she fled to a false Insomnia and her father's arms.

If she didn't think too hard, she could just believe it was real. Snowflakes were lit by a thousand citylights as they swirled to a silent song and covered Insomnia in a thick, white blanket. Inside, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. A mug of tea steamed between her hands as she sat across from her father with her feet tucked up in his chair.

She missed the snow. More than that, though, she missed the city; she missed home; she missed him. For now, at least, she could pretend. She could sit in the Citadel and spill out her worries and her troubles; she could tell him everything that had passed and hear his wisdom. What did  _real_ mean, anyway?

"And so you have recovered that first sigil—yet I note you have yet to approach the others for aid. Do you still intend to?" Her father's voice broke the silence, drawing her eyes away from her steaming cup and up toward him.

Reina sighed. "I suppose I must. But I—"

She stopped. How did he know about the sigil at all? Yes, she  _had_ asked him what it was, but that hadn't really  _happened_. She knew, because neither Ignis nor Cor remembered her Dreaming in their presence, and yet she had done it in the middle of their meeting while they stood by. If they had no memory of it, her father shouldn't have, either.

He must have seen it. And yet…

"I thought you were unable to see details without an anchor."

"My dear, you told me of that the last time we spoke." He set one hand on her leg.

"That… didn't happen." Her pulse picked up. She could feel it pounding in her fingertips, hear it in her ears—drowning out the crackle from the fireplace.

"No?" Regis raised an eyebrow at her. "Odd, then, that I recall it so clearly."

For a moment she simply gaped at him. Then, "You remember that?"

"Should I not?"

"You remember my Dream?!"

He sat, still as only the dead could, and considered her levelly. He said nothing, perhaps because he was waiting for her to begin making sense.

"I Dreamed that conversation with you. But you remember it. No one else except for me remembers my Dreams, but you…" Reina leaned forward, setting her tea aside on the table. She ran her hands over her face and through her hair. Bit by bit, thoughts trickled through her mind. It wasn't possible. It was insane and the fact that she was thinking it at all meant  _she_ was insane. And yet— "This place where we meet is like a Dream… Gods, Gods,  _Gods_ —time doesn't pass the same here… and it will never reset for you like it does for everyone else. You'll never forget."

How long had it been? Months? Years? Decades of living minutes, hours, days over again without intent and reaching as far as she could—desperately trying to grasp someone on the outside and failing time and time again. No matter how she tried, they were always left behind. They weren't really with her. They were all on the outside while she turned in the midst of a tempest. She was surrounded by people and utterly alone…

Until now.

A tear streaked down her face. Her father leaned forward, brushing it away automatically.

"I swore to stay with you and I meant every word."

Impossible. It was wonderful and impossible and absolutely, utterly  _insane_.

"This isn't real. It's just in my head, like a Dream." She shook her head but caught his hand and hung on.

"You have told me yourself those Dreams  _are_ real—I cannot explain it myself. Nor can I explain how it is possible for you to be here, in the In-Between at all, and yet you are. I suspect the two are related. One thing is abundantly clear to me, however," he said, "And that is that  _this is real_. It is more real than I have been for three years, your time."

Everyone else always told her it was real, as well. They told her she was awake when she wasn't so frequently that it meant nothing anymore. What was awake? What was real? But she  _wanted_ to trust him. She wanted to believe that he would be with her, always remembering, no matter how often she lost hold.

So she believed.


	38. 37 Solheim and Starscourge

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###### _25 May - 2 June, 759:_

In the filler moments between those times when she felt truly awake, the world turned. EXINERIS finished laying the powerlines to Caem and the Glaives cleared the corrupted beasts once more. Construction began on more hot houses and Sania, aided by what information Reina gleaned from her father, continued her work on the Starscourge.

Ardyn continued to whisper to her, both in and out of her Dreams until reality and Dream blended together beyond recognition. When was the last time she had spoken to Ignis instead of falling desperately into memories of Insomnia? When was the last time she had written a response to one of Iris' notes? When was the last time she had trained with Cor?

It didn't matter.

Her world continued to skip and stutter, but at least she had someone, now, who would always remember. That was the only time she was alive.

In fact, if she was entirely honest with herself, she had two people who always remembered. Whatever the reason, Ardyn never seemed to forget, either.

She heard his voice wherever she went.

When she rose early in the morning and left Ignis to train on her own:

" _It's the Gods who are lying to you, little Dreamer…"_

Sitting in council, trying to focus when all she wanted was to escape:

" _Ironic, isn't it? When the liar tells you the truth and the ones you're meant to have confidence in can't be trusted…"_

While she was trying to listen to reports from Holly and Cor on the state of Lucis:

" _You're meant to have faith; they feed you little lies your whole life so that when you finally encounter the big lies you swallow them without hesitation."_

The only thing worse than his oily voice whispering in her ear every second of every day was the fact that they both knew she had already begun to doubt. From that first conversation, when she had unwittingly traded access to her father for her own faith in the Gods, when he had first opened her eyes to what the Gods did to them—what the Gods had made of them.

She should have been stronger. She should have been able to do as her father said and follow the path the Astrals laid for her without questioning their will, because they  _must_ have known better, but...

" _Wouldn't you rather know the truth…?"_

She wanted to know. She needed to know. She  _deserved_ to know. If what she was dedicating her life to—what her whole family for two thousand years had dedicated their lives to—was fixing a grievous mistake of the Astrals' own making then she had a right to know that. Even if it was giving Ardyn what he wanted.

All she had to do was drop into that swirling blackness and Dream...

" _Sweet dreams, little Dreamer…"_

Dreaming the past was like swimming upstream. She had to fight against the currents for two thousand years to find what she was looking for, and even then she wasn't sure how she would know. So little was known about the people of Solheim and the time before Lucis. But she had to try. No matter how she tried to convince herself it was a lie—no matter how certain she was that Ardyn was just toying with her—she had to see for herself.

She went too far, at first.

She was standing in the middle of a city unlike anything she had ever seen before. If she hadn't known what direction she had gone in time, she would have guessed this was the future, not the past. It looked like something from a far-fetched storybook.

Spires rose high overhead—not blocky and solid like Insomnia had been, but twisting and spiraling, almost organic. People pushed past her—through her—in droves, wearing unfamiliar clothing. They looked like humans but more proud. The people in Lucis never walked like that—like they were entitled to something.

It wasn't unlike Gralea, except she had never seen Gralea in the sunlight.

Vehicles cut through the roads and skies alike—machines that she had never known the like of and had nothing to compare to.

This was before the Starscourge. Solheim before the fall.

Reina slipped back into the stream of time and watched decades pass around her like hitting fast-forward on a video. She watched the construction of machines—bigger than magitek engines—and the beginning of a war. A war  _she_ might have called futile. A war against the Gods.

She watched fire and ash rain from the sky. Around her, the city crumbled as Ifrit unleashed his wrath. People ran screaming, clothing burning from their backs, skin charred and blackened by the flames. Children cried, animals screamed, and the war machines took flight.

She watched the might of the Six gather above Solheim's falling skyline. At first they seemed only to try to contain Ifrit. But Solheim's Godkiller-machines didn't discriminate between the Six. What began as a conflict between Solheim and Ifrit became a war between heaven and earth.

Whole buildings collapsed as the world shook. Waters rose up where once there had been none. A blizzard took the place of the fire, and lightning cracked the air, turning machines into twisted piles of blackened metal.

Then came the darkness.

She watched the night fall, darker than any night before it, and it cursed all it touched. The plague spread through the ruined city, turning eyes hazy and unfocused, crippling, crushing… corrupting. Solheim, levelled, erupted into a forest. The land began to form into one she recognized.

She watched the tainted people twist and change, night by night, year by year, decade by decade, until they could no longer be called human. Tails grew, horns twisted, wings burst, and a familiar screech echoed through the night. The first daemons were born of the infected.

Ardyn was right.

Reina woke in her bed in Lestallum, skin damp with sweat and hands clenched in the blankets. The  _Gods_ had created the Starscourge. The Gods had corrupted mankind. More than that—they had taken a healer, a man who was doing their dirty work for them—and turned him into evil incarnate. Then they had doomed his bloodline to a thankless future of distilling magic to undo the havoc they had wrought.

No. Not the Gods. Never again could she think of them as divine.

Merely the Astrals, then.

Reina ran her hands over her face, shaking. That Ardyn was evil, that the Starscourge was evil, that the Astrals were good, that the Caelums were the selfless protectors of the future: everything was wrong. The Starscourge came from the Astrals—a tool of  _revenge_ —a base,  _human_  concept; Ardyn was a product of his environment; and the Caelums… they were the blind followers of false idols, never questioning, never wondering, never asking, never straying.

Except for Ardyn.

Except for her, now.

"You were right…" she whispered. "We are the same."

" _It is ever so nice to finally hear you admit what I've known all along."_

She opened her eyes. Lestallum was gone and she stood in the throne room of the Citadel—just as dark and ruined as it had been the last time she stood there in a Dream. Ardyn lounged on the throne, his back against one arm and his legs thrown over the other. He twirled his hat in his hands.

"The question is not 'are we the same?', but rather, 'what will you do about it?'" He looked up at her, replacing his hat on his head. "Now that you know… what will you do?"

Reina shook her head. Her mind was still buzzing with the weight of what she had learned. She hadn't wanted so much to forget the truth since the day she had Dreamed that Noctis would die for his destiny.

"I don't know." It seemed pointless. She didn't agree with Ardyn—she wouldn't perpetuate this darkness and she wouldn't sacrifice the future—the only thing she could do was walk the path they expected of her. To safeguard the future, if not for herself then for her people. "What can I do?"

He sat up, putting his feet on the floor and leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees. "Throw a wrench in their gears. Do what they don't expect. For the first time in your life—do something  _selfish_."

She shook her head again. "The Starscourge needs to be destroyed. I won't doom my people on some petty affront. This is bigger than indignance."

Ardyn considered her for a moment, then smiled. "Ahh, the noble one. Do you know what? I  _like_ it. Revenge is what  _they_  began… and I perpetuated. Perhaps the world needs someone like you—but I couldn't care less what happens to these people."

"What is it you want? To kill Noctis? To kill me? If everything goes according to your plan, how will this end?"

" _That_ is just the beauty of my plan." Ardyn rose from the throne. "No matter how this ends… I win."

Reina's brow furrowed. He descended the steps, down to the dais where she stood.

"We want… The. Same. Thing…" He leaned forward so they were eye-to-eye and nearly nose-to-nose.

"I don't want revenge." She stood her ground, neither breaking eye contact nor stepping back.

Didn't she? For a life bolted to a track, for a brother they would kill, for a father they already had? For the Astrals' own  _stupid_ fuck-up?

"No…? Well you  _do_  want something else. Something you haven't admitted to anyone. Maybe not even yourself." He tilted his head to one side, studying her. "What is it? You can tell  _me_. We're  _the same_ , after all."

"I just want my father back."

Ardyn tsked, looking disappointed, and straightened. "Not  _that_. Something more interesting."

Reina said nothing, though he clearly expected her to. He began to pace; walking the few feet of flat space available to him and turning back.

"If I should succeed in killing Noctis when he emerges, I will have my revenge. I will have proved that  _I_ am more powerful than the crystal's  _Chosen King_ , and at the same time all of Eos will be free from them. No more dues to be paid, no more crystal, no more ring." He stopped, turning to face her. "And if not… Noctis will kill me. Then he will Ascend to the realm beyond and destroy my soul, preventing me from returning and granting me—after two thousand years— _everlasting sleep_. And again the world is free from the crystal and the covenant of the Gods."

Reina shut her eyes. Everlasting sleep. Dreamless rest, never waking to find the empty world waiting for her ever again.

"We want… the same thing…" Ardyn's voice whispered in her ear.

She let out a breath. Months had passed since the first time he had told her they were alike. She had dismissed him offhand, then. It seemed so much longer ago. It should have taken longer for her to start to see herself in the darkness.

"Neither of us will get it. Not for some time." Reina looked up at him.

He was held back by the taint that ran in his veins—by the darkness that had taken him over, by the appetite for revenge that had long since consumed him.

"Well, since we're becoming so well acquainted—what is it holding  _you_ back?" He asked.

"I have my path to tread. I cannot lightly abandon my duties. My people."

Ardyn scoffed. He waved a dismissive hand and turned away from her. "A path laid before you by the same creatures who have doomed our whole bloodline to fixing  _their_ mistakes. Do you  _really_ want to walk that path, still, after everything you have seen?'

"I will not sacrifice any more lives for this."

"Lives, lives,  _lives_. Oh, who  _cares_ about these people?" He turned back to look at her. Whatever her face looked like, it must have changed his mind, somehow. The annoyance faded. Then he  _laughed_. "But of course. You must follow in Daddy's footsteps."

He crossed the few steps between them. Reina didn't move an inch.

"But you don't have to do it Their way," Ardyn said. "You already have the ring, you already Dream the impossible… why not take things one step further?"

The little voice in the back of her head told her not to trust him, not to listen to a single word he said, but it was growing quieter by the second. The other voice whispered,  _we're the same_.

"How?" She asked.

He leaned forward. They were nose to nose, again—in spite of everything, he just looked like a man.

"Take what always should have been yours. What you've been denied your whole life." He held out his hand and a black flame flickered in his palm. "Use it however you want—all that matters is they never wanted you to have it."

He closed his fist and the flame flickered out. " _Take control_."

Reina looked down at the ring on her hand. The first thing her forefathers had told her when she put it on was that she wasn't meant to wield their magic.

Meant? Meant by whom? By the same Astrals who had cursed humankind with daemons out of revenge? The same Astrals who had sentenced her family to a hundred generations of fixing their mistake? The world was falling apart and they wouldn't give her aid because of  _those Astrals_?

No more.

"Everything I wasn't meant to do…" she murmured.

"Do it."

"Everything I wasn't meant to have…"

"Take it."

"Everything I wasn't meant to see…"

" _Dream it_ , little Dreamer."

She shut her eyes. It was time to wake up—whatever that even meant—but first…

"Now I will," she said.


	39. The Royal Line

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######  _3 June, 759:_

She woke the following morning with a fire in her belly. For as long as she could remember, the will of the Astrals had been an inescapable truth. It wasn't challengeable. It wasn't changeable. It simply  _was_. Like the mountains and the sky, like the sea and the storms. To attempt standing against the Astrals was futile—pointless—suicide.

Maybe it still was.

But she would rather die than follow blindly any longer. This was where it began.

When the council assembled, she called for the anchor-discs to be brought before her. Searches of other accessible tombs had revealed sigils like the one found in the Tomb of the Just. Each one was inlaid with a different symbol; a sigil, representing the king that it was bound to. All of them were inert. If everything went according to plan, however, they wouldn't remain that way for long.

She took a breath and shut her eyes. Once she began, there was no turning back; whatever her Dreams were—however they worked—they didn't seem to extend to the In-Between. Once she played her hand, she couldn't make any changes.

She shut her eyes and dropped into the darkness. It was easier, now. The first time she had done it on accident while trying to summon her father's spirit. What she meant to do, now, was much the same—just on a larger scale.

The threads of energy shot out from her—or, more accurately, the ring — in every direction. This time she didn't sift through them to find the exact line that she wanted; she gathered them all up and  _pulled_.

It took a moment. They pulled back against her, but she didn't give, didn't release them. Slowly, the lines widened, strengthening and growing shorter.

One by one they appeared, some manifest—ghostly shapes in blue fire, just like the statues of the Old Wall. Their form was not one she had given them—not like the numerous times she had called her father back—it was something they made for themselves. Even so, she could  _feel_ more spirits than she could see. They filled the emptiness and it stretched to accommodate them. Was it possible that only the more powerful Lucii could bend the reality here?

It was a thought for another time. For now, all that mattered was that they had come. That told her something important about the bond she shared with them.

It meant she had power over them. Ardyn was right—as usual.

_:Reina Lucis Caelum. Why have you summoned us forth? Think you that we may reverse our judgement?:_

It was the Mystic who spoke—his many-horned helmet flaring blue-fire as his booming voice filled her mind, rather than her ears.

No. Not  _the Mystic_ —

"Somnus." Her eyes flicked over the spectral armor.

The last time she had stood before them, she had been at their mercy; this time it was  _she_ who held the reins. These kings were echos of the rulers they had once been. Their power was real, passed down through the generations and stored in the ring along with their knowledge. But the forms they took were the ones mortals gave them. These were just people— _her_ people, her forefathers—why should she not see them as such?

He said nothing. Was he surprised? Or just irate at being addressed so casually?

"I have come to speak with you. As kin. As blood. As a Caelum. As an heir."

_:Speak, then. But know that our minds are set. This power is not meant for you.:_

There it was again. What did he mean by that?

As much as Reina wanted to ask, she tucked it away for the time being. She needed to tread carefully. She needed them to listen to her and take her words to heart—if, indeed, they had any heart remaining. As things stood, she had no chance. How could they take her seriously if they viewed her as an ant to their godlike power?

She had to crane to look at the Mystic's mask, but she did so. She remembered Somnus—the same man who had cast Ardyn aside for the promise of the crown and the crystal's favor. From the memories of her Dream she conjured up Somnus' face, his form—kingly, regal, but undeniable  _human_.

The blue fire flickered and shifted before her eyes. The armor shrank, the horns receded, the sword vanished, and before her stood Somnus the man—just as he had been the day he took the throne from his brother.

Surprise flashed briefly on his face—perhaps that was why they crafted no faces for themselves—giving lie to the thoughts within. That was all she needed—the crack in the armor. If he could feel surprise then he could  _feel_. And if he was surprised by her display, it meant she wasn't supposed to be able to do that.

_Just one more thing I'm not meant to do._

If she could do it to one of them she could do it to all of them.

She glanced among the others in the circle, reaching back into memories she didn't yet have as she named them, gave them form. "Crepera, Tonitrus, Sophos, Callidus…"

With each name she spoke, armor gave way to body—symbolism to humanity—until only one remained. Her courage wavered. Her mouth went dry and her vision blurred. Each form, each ruler, she pulled from Dreams, changing their shape with her own perception.

"Father…"

She didn't need to Dream to see him—to know him. How many times, growing up, had she studied the way he walked and tried to emulate it? How long had she spent at twelve trying to stand  _just so_ and apply all the right intonations to her words? She saw him now, rising from his throne when she entered court after school—smiling. She saw him sitting in bed with a breakfast tray across his knees—just the man, not the king, before all the pomp and formality had taken hold—the only thing royal about him at that moment had been the royal  _mess_ of his hair. She saw him sitting before his council, commanding confidence and loyalty just by  _being_.

He smiled and she smiled back. But she hadn't called him just to be together, this time. This time he would bear witness—whether to her success or her failure remained to be seen.

She tore her eyes away from her father and looked around the circle. Now, only people stood before her. It was strange, seeing them in that way; the Lucii were only ever represented as solitary figures in heavy armor—stripped of all life and humanity and reduced to symbols—but now they were the same as they had been a thousand years ago. They were just people. Fallible, real people who had fallen into the same trap that she had. Faith.

If all went well, she would free them from it.

"Now we can talk," Reina said. They didn't need colossal suits of armor to tower over her; most of them were a foot or more taller than her, regardless.

Somnus' eyes flicked over the circle—when was the last time he had seen the faces of his descendants?—and finally settled on Reina.

"It should not be within your power to change this place," he said.

And yet, here they were.

"So I gather," Reina said. "You have said I am not meant to have the power of the ring. That I am not meant to have this power. What power  _am_ I meant to have?"

Somnus hesitated, his lips parting then shutting, as if he had thought better of the words he planned to say. But then he gave half a shrug and said, "It makes little difference if you know the plans of the Gods. Thus far you have played your part well, barring some minor exceptions."

Reina didn't ask what it was about her rule—or her life in general—that Somnus took issue to. She wasn't sure she wanted to know; she wasn't sure if she even cared. He was hardly a saint, himself.

"You were born alongside the Chosen King," Somnus continued. "It was no mistake, nor slip of fate. Always it was meant to be; one would cut through the darkness for the last time and, following his Ascension, his twin would take up the mantle and rule."

His words hit her like a knife twisted in her stomach—the pain so sharp, so physical, that Reina nearly recoiled. She  _did_ put her hand to her middle to ensure that it was whole.

She had  _always_ been meant to rule?

Her father's eyes flicked from her to Somnus, then back. The muscle in his jaw tightened and he clasped his hands in front of him—tight, like he was trying to stay in line. Had he known? All those years, growing up thinking that she was the spare, that Noctis would rule and she would stand behind him like Ignis and Gladiolus, where she belonged, only to learn the crown was meant for her all along. A lifetime of believing she had no place in the world, that she was an accident, to find she had a future equally as disturbing as Noct's.

"But Noctis…" Reina shook her head. She had known he would give his life for this, but before this long night, she had always thought… She didn't even know what she had thought. That he would rule first, that he would father an heir before fate called him, that she would only ever be in the background where she belonged. "He is the Chosen King. The King of Kings. The King of Light."

Why call him king if he never would be?

"And this is his reign: in darkness, left in your hands," Somnus said.

Reina shook her head again, refusing to shed tears here, though her eyes burned. She had known this, surely. She had known he would return only to drive back the Starscourge and destroy Ardyn; why had she held onto the lie that she would never be queen for so long?

"What does this have to do with my magic?" Her own self doubt could wait—had to wait—she had come here for a purpose and it hadn't yet been fulfilled.

"With the Ascension of the King of Light, so, too, does the magic of the Gods leave the world. He was to be the last of our bloodline with the connection to the Heart of Eos. He was to leave the world in the same state it had been before the Gods gifted me their power."

_Gifted_. Did he really believe that it was a blessing? Gifted  _him_. Had he actually forgotten how it happened, or was he just holding onto the lie for posterity's sake?

She tucked those bitter thoughts away and focused on the present.

"But I  _do_ have a connection to the crystal. I may have no elemancy of by own, but I  _can_ heal."

"No." Now it was Somnus who shook his head. "Not on your own. That magic you channel through your family—first through your twin and now, after his departure, through your father."

Somnus glanced toward her father, his gaze silently accusing. In return, her father met it without looking away—almost defiant. Did they disapprove of his choice to share his magic with her? They must have, if they believed she shouldn't have it.

Still, it didn't make sense.

"But I have  _always_ had that ability, even before the first time Noctis and I learned to share links."

"Instinct is a curious thing," Somnus said. "Something inside of you was aware of your connection to him and his connection to the crystal even before you were consciously aware. Perhaps, in those early years, desperation drove you to draw upon it. I know not. But I do know that it was never your power to begin with."

It didn't make  _sense_. When Noctis had entered the Heart, all of the magic she had borrowed from him had gone, but—

But she hadn't tried to heal anyone in that brief window of time between Noctis' disappearance and her father's appearance…

"And my Dreams…?" Reina asked, voice growing quieter.

Silence met these words. She glanced around the circle and found that the Lucii were doing much the same—exchanging looks, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. If she hadn't been so perturbed, she might have been struck by how very  _human_ it was.

"You should not have that ability," Somnus said, at last.

"That is what you have said about everything else."

"No—more specifically: there is nothing about your existence that should grant you the ability to see the future. The Gods never meant for  _any_ of us to have that boon."

She wasn't sure she would call it a boon, but, at the same time…

"I see the past, as well," she said.

This was the first thing they had said that made sense. The Astrals hadn't given her this ability; it  _was_ an accident. Of course. Why would they give her an ability that would let her see their past indiscretions? That would let her see the truth, when their entire empire was built on lies.

Somnus didn't bat an eye. "So I gather."

Otherwise, how could she have reproduced their forms so flawlessly?

"I saw the manner in which you gained the throne." And here they were. This was what she had been preparing for—uncomfortable truths notwithstanding. If she made a mistake it could cost her people everything. "I have seen your brother."

"I have no brother." In spite of his words, Reina didn't miss the way he flinched. She let that pass. He could remain in denial about Ardyn.

"I have Dreamed earlier, as well. I can look wherever I wish, now. I wonder…" She glanced around, catching each eye and holding it, one by one. "Would you continue to follow the Astrals if you knew that everything they told us was a lie…?"

Silence met her words.

"My brother has been poisoning your mind," Somnus said.

"I thought you had no brother."

His lips pressed in a tight line.

"No. As I told you, I have  _Dreamed_ the truth." Again she glanced over the Lucii. Just  _people_. And they were people—for what it was worth—who were studying her with interest. She had their attention.

"Let me show you."

She reached out and twisted the un-space of the In-Between. She built up the spires of Solheim, the people in their immaculate clothes and their prideful faces. She built up their machines—the Godkillers—and then the Astrals themselves. And then she let history run again, while one hundred and thirteen Lucian rulers watched the truth they were never  _meant to_ see.

Just one more thing she shouldn't have been able to do.

When Solheim and the rest faded, Reina was left once again standing before her forefathers in thick silence. She recognized some of their expressions: shock, horror, anger. Others stared blankly at the dark emptiness that had, moments before, been a likeness of Eos. Still others exchanged uncomfortable looks.

At last, Somnus spoke. "Even if this is true… it changes nothing."

Some of the Lucii nodded in agreement… but Reina noted that the majority was not so certain.

"No?" She asked.

"Regardless of its origin, the Starscourge must be purged from Eos. That is our task. Only we have the power to hold back the dark and only the Chosen King can banish it forever," Somnus said.

"Some of that, at least, I agree with," Reina said. "Left unchecked, the scourge will spread to everyone on Eos; it will blot out the sun entirely; it will end this world. But knowing, as you now do, that divine right—that the Astrals' judgement—means  _nothing_ … can you truly say you would have done nothing differently? If you had known that the being who told you to cast out your brother for his corruption was the same being who inflicted it upon him… would you have listened?"

Somnus fell silent. So he did have regrets, after all.

"Reina…" It was her father who spoke, next. She had known he would and she had known that, of all those she faced, it would be hardest to challenge him. "This is a dangerous line you walk, my dear."

"Father." Reina met his gaze, taking a breath and steeling herself. She could do this. She could convince him. "If you hadn't thought the Astrals infallible, if you hadn't believed in their vision and their truth, what would you have done when they told you to sacrifice your five-year-old son for the greater good?"

A look of pain crossed his face and Reina hated herself for it. He didn't answer, but she didn't need him to. She knew the truth.

"Regrets will get you nowhere, child," Somnus said. "The future may well be built on lies, but if you do intend to save this star then you must still follow the Gods' path."

Reina shook her head. "You have seen  _so much_ , and yet you still insist their way is the only way. Why? You know they are liars. You know they have condemned our bloodline to two thousand years of sacrifice. Can you think of no better way to fight the Starscourge than to follow them blindly?"

"What would you have us do?" Somnus stepped forward, breaking the circle. "Whatever you might See, this line— _your_ line—is dedicated to the preservation of the future. To the preservation of Lucis."

"Then help me preserve it." Reina didn't step forward. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze. "This ring is a tool in my hands that you will not allow me to use because  _they_ willed it. Just as they willed you to condemn Ardyn; just as they willed my brother to give his life before he even knew what the Starscourge was. But they are  _imperfect_. They make mistakes and leave us to clean up the mess. Now that we know that, we don't have to play their games anymore. We don't have to be held back by their rules."

Somnus stopped advancing. He considered her as if he had never seen her properly before. Behind and around him, the others exchanged looks.

"Give me the power and I will protect our people—on our own terms."


	40. Bonds

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######  _26 May - 3 June, 759:_

In just a few weeks, Reina seemed to give up the struggle. She stopped sitting with them at dinner, even in silence. The day she had thrown Cor was the last time he trained with her. As much as he understood how frustrating it must have been, living her life, he just wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her—tell her she couldn't give up. Not now. Not after everything they had been through.

He did—because they were being honest with each other, now, and if he broke that he broke everything. But she only stared at him—or through him—as if she couldn't really see him.

More than anything else, it hurt to know that she  _was_ keeping something—probably many things—from him, whether intentionally or not. Hadn't they already established that open communication was the only way they were ever going to make it through?  _She_ taught him that. How could she turn around and lock herself back up again?

But all she seemed to want was solitude. Iris said she didn't come to sit on the roof, anymore, she never lingered anywhere, she always moved like she was in a hurry, and whenever she had a moment of time she fled to her rooms and shut the door. At first he thought it must have been the Dreams getting worse again—all he could do was hypothesize because it seemed she was never going to tell him—but a little part of him doubted. Wondered.

He couldn't even quantify that nagging feeling until one day in the otherwise empty kitchen, Weskham asked:

"Do you believe her?"

"Thought you were in Caem," Cor said.

"I came in with the latest batch of refugees from Tenebrae. Come morning, I'll be back on the road."

Cor considered him a moment before remembering the question he had asked. "Believe what?"

"Believe that she hasn't seen Regis' spirit."

Cor's brow furrowed. Why wouldn't he believe that? She had said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that it seemed ridiculous even to wonder. Besides, Reina wasn't known to be dishonest—though that was before, and a lot of things about Reina now were… different, now.

"Why would she lie?" Cor asked.

"I can't say for certain that she has."

"But you think it." Cor folded his arms over the surface of the table and leaned forward to look at Wes.

"What I think is that this is a young woman who spent twenty years trying to have Regis all to herself… and that if she  _had_ seen him, this would be an opportunity she couldn't pass up."

Cor shook his head. Weskham had too many people and bullshit psychologies bottled up in his head; he always had. But Cor had been in Insomnia for those twenty years. He had watched Reina grow up while Weskham was away in Altissia.

"You missed the mark on this one. She wouldn't do that—not for herself."

"Is that so?"

"It is and you damn well know it. Never met a more peculiarly selfless child—and maybe that isn't good in its own right, but it's nothing like what you're talking about. She never once acted out, never took anything for herself; no one was ever surprised to see her give everything she had to Noctis. She worked hard—still works hard—and gave up every scrap of spare time she had for other people."

"And what, pray tell, would you do, if you were trying to attract the attention of someone who valued duty and merit?" Weskham asked.

"I'm not saying she didn't  _want_ his attention; I'm saying she would never lie or cheat or sacrifice other people for her own desires. She always put others first. She was only seventeen when she started taking over rule, trying to lighten Regis' load. She dropped everything for him—she stopped going out, stopped attending school, stopped doing  _anything_ that wasn't for him."

Weskham didn't say anything for a moment, but the look he was giving Cor didn't look convinced. He looked like he was just waiting.

Waiting, perhaps, for Cor to realized what he, himself, had just said.

Reina spent every minute with her father; she gave up everything… except it was hardly a sacrifice if what she got in return was just what she had always wanted, was it?

"And she would have done the same for anyone else?" Weskham asked.

Cor opened his mouth to confirm that she would have, but stopped himself.

How many times had he watched them walking out of the council room together, or from the audience chamber, while Reina unceremoniously banished everyone else for the king's sake? She turned to fire and ice whenever anyone challenged Regis or stood against him—even so much as a perceived toe over the line. She was still doing it. Years after his death and she still treated the core Kingsglaive with disdain.

Weskham nodded. "Everyone wants something."

It still didn't fit.

"Then why carry on? She keeps doing all of those things, but he's been gone for three years," Cor said.

"She is doing her duty," Weskham sighed. "Precisely as he taught her to."

She was still giving everything, but it wasn't with the same fervor as before. It was as if she  _didn't_ care; as if she was only going through the motions. Maybe she was.

"I don't read minds—just people—and I can't say for sure that she sees him or speaks to him, but I think we should remember that she  _is_ a human like the rest of us. She has  _wants_ … and Ardyn  _did_ make her that offer." Weskham spoke slowly, as if selecting his words carefully. Cor didn't like the ones he chose.

"He wouldn't give her that for free," Cor said.

"No," Weskham agreed. "I don't think he would."

The next morning Weskham returned to Caem and left Cor with those uncomfortable thoughts. Before, he had rationalized her behavior in terms of her waking Dreams; of course she preferred solitude if everyone else sounded like a broken record. But what if she wasn't alone at all? What if she closed herself up in her rooms because then she could talk to Regis?

And if she was… what had she promised Ardyn in return?

He put those poisonous thoughts out of his mind, succeeding—for a few days—in not giving credence to Weskham's doubts. Cor wasn't going to fall into that. He trusted her, damn it, and she would never have given Ardyn anything.

And that was that. Or it should have been. He managed not to wonder on it until the morning she met them at council and called for those discs that the Glaives had recovered from the tombs.

"What do you intend to do?" Cor had asked her, sitting down across the table as she set all four sigils out before her.

"Convince them that they are wrong."

She hadn't elaborated any more than that before shutting her eyes and, to all appearances, falling asleep. Though, perhaps asleep wasn't the right word. Sleep seemed to imply a restful moment; the body recovering while the mind wandered inside. This was something else. It was more like watching her drop into a Dream, except he had never known her to do that while she was awake. Then again, she must have. She Dreamed all the time, now, didn't she?

Whatever it was that she did, she left them with nothing to do but wait.

Beside her, Ignis sat, silent with his own thoughts. The rest of the council was in scattered attendance. Iris was there, of course, but Weskham was in Caem, Dave was in the field, Sania was locked up in her lab, and two of three refugee leaders were in their respective communities.

"She means the Lucii?" Cor asked at length, keeping one eye on Reina—he wasn't sure how easy it would be to accidentally disturb her, but he knew that accidentally waking her from a Dream was impossible.

"So I surmise," Ignis said.

"I had no notion that she spoke to them at all."

Cor knew, of course, that people said the spirits of the old kings were bound to the ring and that any who put it on would be subject to their judgement. But no one ever spoke more plainly of it than that. Not Mors, nor Regis, nor Reina.

"Nor did I." Ignis' voice was quiet.

Perhaps she didn't. Perhaps this was the first time—but, then again, why say it so certainly, so casually? And if she  _did_ speak to the Lucii… didn't that mean Weskham was right?

"Have you ever heard her mention her father's spirit?" Cor asked against his better judgement. If anyone knew, it would be Ignis.

Ignis shook his head. "Only the once, when she first used the ring in Gralea. She speaks on her own, sometimes, when she believes she is alone, and often references His Majesty… I assume, however, that when she said she spoke to ghosts that they were mere memories."

It wasn't a poor assumption, in any other circumstance. Here, however…

Across the table, Reina took a breath as if she had just surfaced from a long dive. Ignis fell still and silent, but he couldn't see what Cor saw: the four metal discs on the table began to glow, each symbol traced in blue light. Then  _Reina_ began to glow.

The magic traced her skin in a network, as if fire ran through her veins. The air around her seemed darker in comparison and, though Cor knew little of magic, he felt a ripple pass through the world, originating with her.

Her eyes opened. They shone with an unearthly light, as well—always blue but never  _that_ blue. For a moment she didn't seem to see anything at all. Her hands clutched the edge of the table; a grimace crossed her face. Did it burn, having fire under her skin?

Then it all faded.

The magic sank back underneath, leaving her flesh unharmed. The light in her eyes faded. The sigils remained, looking much as they had before she began, but… was it his imagination, or did they  _hum_?

"Reina—" Ignis half-rose from his seat. He could only have heard the sound she made, but perhaps he had felt something of the power. He had worn the ring, as well. Did that give him some lingering connection to it?

"It is done." Reina cut him off before any further concern could be expressed. She didn't  _sound_ pained. "Summon the Glaive."

Cor went. What else could he do? He sure as hell wasn't going to object.

The meeting room—council room, whatever it was—was too small to fit all of them. Instead they crowded into the training hall. Even that was a tight fit. They shuffled, nervous and restless, at having all been summoned so unexpectedly. Cor could hardly blame them. While Reina was civil with them in day to day interactions, for the most part, she never did trust them. Though she had never openly echoed her earlier sentiments of them, Cor had the distinct impression that she still believed their lives were forfeit.

When Reina entered, the crowd fell silent. They didn't bow to her; they dropped to one knee, each and every one, until Cor and Ignis were left the only people standing. She noticed—she must have—but she didn't react.

"The power of the Lucii. This is what I share with you. There are two ways for one not of the royal line to access these magics. One—as you know—is through a bond of your own; a bond formed with a Caelum, a bond forged in trust. For when a Caelum grants you his magic, he has sworn before the crystal that you are  _worthy_."

Reina paused. Faces that had been upturned in the crowd dropped to stare at the ground. She didn't need to say more; it was clear enough from her tone and those few words what she was thinking:

_A trust you have all broken._

"The other way is to wear the Ring of the Lucii. This, in a sense, is the same as forging a bond with a Caelum—or, more accurately, with every king or queen who has ever lived. But they do not trust you. They do not believe in you. They have no faith in your virtue. And so, in return for this boon, they require payment."

She turned to her side, where Ignis stood, and all eyes followed hers. Ignis didn't flinch. Perhaps he knew they were all staring at him or perhaps he didn't. Whatever the case was, he displayed his scarred face without shame. As well he should have.

"But times have grown dire. The sky grows blacker with each passing day. The daemons grow stronger. The Starscourge spreads. And for all this, the Lucii want what they have always wanted—to preserve the future, to see the world through until dawn. And so, in the name of the future, in the name of preservation, they will grant you each a boon without bearing the ring."

She held up one of the discs; it wasn't glowing anymore but when it moved in the light, it almost seemed to flicker with that same blue flame.

"Each of these discs anchors one Lucian king to the physical world; if you take his sigil, he will grant you his power. If you find more anchors, I will forge new bonds and you may take new power." She paused, handing the disc to Ignis and looking around the room. "Do not misunderstand me. You have broken the bond of trust; even if I could, I would never vouch for you before them. To take this power you will make an exchange. Each king requires a different exchange. He may take your payment piece by piece over the years. He may take it all at once. Or he may leave you with all your faculties until the long night is over, and take his price then. Whatever the case, rest assured that this power is not free. But you will pay the price, regardless; you will take the power because if you do not, Lucis will falter.

"Your only choice is which sigil to take."

Her words all but confirmed the suspicions that had taken root in Cor's mind. She  _did_ speak to the Lucii; if she didn't, she could never have activated the sigils. Now she seemed to speak for the Lucii, herself. If she hadn't, before, she certainly did now. And Regis was among them. Of that, Cor had no doubt. If Regis was among them, she  _would_ speak with him. She would withdraw from everything else, seeking his company alone, just as she had back in Insomnia. It had already begun.

The only question was whether she had worked this out on her own…

Or made a deal with the devil.


	41. The Uncomfortable Truth

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######  _3-4 June, 759:_

As much as she wanted to fling the ring away and run from everything they had told her, she faced down the world. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes of pretending as if her entire life wasn't crumbling around her. Just a few more minute facing down the traitors who had stabbed her father in the back. Just a few more minutes trying not to think about anything she had just learned.

And when every last Glaive, marked with a sigil, was sent on their way, she could flee. Cor had questions—she could see them on his face. Everyone had questions. She had too many of her own to try answering anyone else's, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to know more answers. Every other time she had gone looking for the truth in the past few days, another little piece of her was chipped away.

So she left Cor without an explanation. Then it was just Reina and the voices in her head. Some of them were her. Some of them weren't. But at last they others were gone.

Save for Ignis, following faithfully back to her room, though she hadn't taken his hand. She should tell him, a part of her reasoned. He would want to know. But how could she explain what she didn't yet understand? How could she bleed out her emotions when she was tangled up in them, still not sure what to feel at all? And how could she tell him anything, when doing so would require her to explain  _everything_?

She stopped outside her door. He stopped, as well. She turned to face him, hesitating, and he waited.

"Ignis, I…"

What would she even say? Where would she even begin? So many things had happened that she had never told him about—they all seemed like history, now, so deeply ingrained in her that either someone  _knew_ or they hadn't been paying attention. To try to explain her own soul would have been pointless.

"I need some time," she said.

"O...of course."

She didn't miss the catch in his voice. It was the first time she had ever sent him away just for the sake of being on her own. Just the look on his face almost made her take it all back, but she  _needed_ to think. She needed to breathe.

She watched him walk away, turning and retracing his steps back down the stairs with his hand trailing along the wall, then she opened the door and closed herself in her room. The bed was too far away. She put her back to the door and sat down right there, her head making a hollow thump against the wood when she leaned back.

_I was always meant to be queen_.

It refused to sink in. The words rolled off of her like water off of plastic. How could that be true? She was just Reina.

Just Reina.

_And Father always knew_.

That look on his face. He hadn't meant for her to find out like that, but he had known she would take the throne and Noctis wouldn't. Why hadn't he told her? All that time… he had always said she would be a good queen.

Reina shook her head and balled her fists against her eyes. She was meant to be queen, she had no magic of her own, and she  _wasn't_ meant to Dream. Nothing was as she had thought it was. Nothing was right.

The ring on her finger caught her eye. She could go and ask him, right now; she could hear the answer from his lips, rather than speculating on her own. But for the first time in her life she didn't want to. He didn't understand. He didn't know what it was like to question his place in the world; he didn't understand that the Astrals were  _wrong_ —she wasn't meant to be queen. If she met him, now, he would try to tell her they were right—that they hadn't chosen the wrong twins for the wrong roles, that she would make an excellent queen. It would be like a great wall between them and she couldn't bear that.

But there was one person who understood—someone who would never tell her that the Astrals had made the right choice.

She shut her eyes and let her head fall back against the door. And she Dreamed.

_Ardyn? Are you here?_

" _Where else would I go, little Dreamer?"_

It was darkness but for Ardyn. She didn't give form to him—he made it, himself—but she knew they were in the In-Between. She looked down and found her own body attached to her mind; she wore a dress that she hadn't seen in years, but it was marred with dirt, like most of her clothes were, now. Had she chosen that for herself…? Or had he?

She smoothed her hands over the dress. Once, it had delighted her to wear such things. She loved the balls, she loved the custom gowns, she loved sitting for hours while someone else did her hair and makeup just to go to dinner with her family. That was when she had been a princess. As a regent she spent more time holding her naginata than her hairbrush; she slept in tents beside the men and women who had murdered her father because her kingdom was in danger and she had no choice.

Her eyes burned. She closed her hands in her skirts.

_I never wanted this._

"What have they told you?" Ardyn stepped closer; with her chin still on her chest, she could see his shoes.

"That I have no magic of my own. That it was always Noctis'. That my Dreams are a mistake. That the Gods severed my connection to the crystal because I was meant to be the last Caelum. The only Caelum to survive until dawn. The Queen of Lucis. I always thought Noct would really be king. I always thought I was supposed to be a healer—because that was the only thing I could do."

He caught her chin and turned her face upward; it wasn't a gentle motion, but he didn't force it, either.

He smiled. It was an unpleasant smile, but he held her eyes and she couldn't look away. "You thought they gave you a gift and you tried to use it to the utmost… only to find yourself cast aside for your efforts."

Though he never looked away, his eyes developed a faraway look until she wasn't certain that he was even talking about her, anymore. But it still sounded the same. His grasp on her chin tightened until it hurt. She winced, trying to pull away, but he didn't release her.

"I thought you had learned better, little Dreamer. Your kingdom is built on lies. But whyever would you care what  _they_ planned for you?"

Reina blinked at him, stunned twofold—that he would touch her at all and that perhaps he was right. What did it matter?

"You are not their pawn any longer. You know their lies. You know their flaws." He leaned forward so they were on level, but he never released her chin. "They want you to be queen? Throw the crown in their face. They don't want you to Dream? Then  _Dream, Dreamer_. See everything you can see, because there is nothing they fear more than a puppet that has snapped its strings."

She shut her eyes, letting his words wash over her. Tears clung to her lashes but didn't fall. This time she didn't even hear the whisper of that little voice in the back of her head—the one that always told her she shouldn't be listening to him.

She listened.

What did it matter what they wanted, what they had planned for her? She had already earned the power of the Lucii against the will of the Astrals. What was one more thing, two more things?

"Make your own game, Dreamer." He flashed teeth, releasing her jaw at last and turning away. "It's what I do."

It took another day to work up her courage for what she knew came next. She paced the length of her rooms. She didn't go out and tell Ignis he could return. She didn't go and see to any of the myriad duties she was meant to do. Knowing, now, that to be queen had always been her destiny… she only hated it more.

All those years she had searched for purpose, wishing she had some place to fill in the future like Noctis did, wishing  _she_ was a piece on the chessboard, though she didn't yet know they were only pawns. If she had known perhaps she would have taken to it—to follow in her father's footsteps; wasn't that what she had always wanted?

But he had never told her, even though he knew.

Eventually she could put it off no longer. She couldn't stand that burning ache of doubt—the feelings of separation between herself and one of two people she loved more than anything else in the world. She had to make it right. Somehow. She needed to understand and to be understood.

She dropped back into the In-Between, summoning her father into being and drawing Insomnia all around them.

Her father stood at the windows on the far side of his rooms with his back to her as he looked across the city that wasn't real. It could have been, if she wished it, but it would only stretch as far as her memories did. From here it was just an image.

"You have every right to be cross with me, my dear." He didn't turn around. "Know only that every objection you have is already a regret of mine."

Had it really only been a day? It felt like years that she had carried the weight of her future. Maybe this was what Noct had always felt.

"I'm not upset with you, Father." She stepped forward, putting herself level with him and looking up to find consternation written on his face. "Never with you."

He turned away from the city and looked at her, instead, pursing his lips. "Nevertheless, I am sorry."

"Did you always know? That I was supposed to be queen?"

"I surmised from the start. Noctis' fate meant little time for him to live, let alone rule, so I resolved to give him the most life he could have. It also meant something for you—though that went unspoken. I knew that, in all likelihood, there would come a time when there were no Caelums left for the throne, save you." He brushed a strand of her hair from her face and sighed. "The Gods confirmed as much, later."

"Is that why you involved me so much in the kingdom?"

"In part. Though I did convince myself that you enjoyed it. Was I merely fooling myself?" He looked so worried that he might have subjected her to less-than-favorable preparation for her future, that Reina would have said no even if it was a lie.

"Of course not, Father. I liked being involved and I loved being a part of your world. Those years when I reigned beside you with no other distractions were the best of my life." She meant every word.

"Not of your whole life, I hope. There is more, yet, for you to look forward to."

She smiled. She didn't tell him that she had seen those years and they were nothing but darkness and despair.

"I thought to tell you so many times," he said, "But each time I stopped myself. I never could tell Noctis the truth of his fate, either… You were so adamant that you would never be queen and did not wish to wear the crown… I foolishly thought to shelter you from that."

When he moved to touch her hair, this time, she caught his hand. "I understand. And I don't blame you."

He gave her a tight smile, which she returned.

"You always were empathetic beyond your years, my dear." He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, squeezing her fingers. "And much too good for the likes of me."

"Don't be silly, Father." Reina flushed. She had to stand on her toes to hug him around the shoulders, but she did so happily. Just then, it didn't matter if she hadn't known what the Astrals planned for her—just like it didn't matter if she knew, now.

Maybe she wouldn't give the Astrals what they wanted.


	42. Not Quite Human

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######  _10 June, 759:_

With the blessing of the Lucii came the full might of the ring. Now that she had it, she wasn't certain it was worth the tradeoff.

The Gods were a lie. Everything she had ever known, everything she had ever been, was a lie. That moment when she had chosen to look, to Dream of the past and learn the truth about the origin of the Starscourge marked the end. The end of faith and belief. The end of direction. The end of trust.

The end of any chance of ever having her friends back.

Because she could never tell them. She could never let this secret bleed out; she couldn't afford to let anyone know or it would mean the end of so much more. The end of hope for every person left in Lucis—for what was hope when they had been left in the dark by the very beings they trusted to protect them? And what was life without hope?

It was nothing. And it would dwindle as, one by one, two by two, hundred by hundred they lost the will to live because the sun was never going to rise, because their own Gods had spawned the scourge that was now beginning to spread through their already diminutive population. That was what lay at stake.

She  _wanted_ to tell them. She wanted to share the weight of the cold lump that sat in the pit of her stomach and poisoned her slowly. But then it would do the same thing to them. How could she ask that of them? How could she poison  _their_  minds, kill  _their_ hope? She wished she could forget; all she could do for them was ensure they never had the chance to. It would be better this way.

So she kept it inside, breathing not a word when she emerged from her Dreams. Just as she had never told Noctis what awaited him in the future. Perhaps he had been unpleasantly shocked when he did find out… but at least he had a chance at a life before that. She would give the same to everyone else.

It wasn't easy, sitting in council when news came of the first few hunters contracting the scourge. But she was nothing if not restrained.

"It seems that any who leave the havens are liable to fall sick. The hunters have been hit the hardest, but, miraculously, the Glaives have been spared, so far." Cor, sitting across the table, flipped through a stack of papers.

Beneath the constant thrum of anger and the sound of her teeth grinding against each other, Reina heard the whispers of the Lucii:

" _The crystal protects… where the Gods do not…"_

She felt their bitterness adding to hers. But they were united, now, in mind and purpose. That lent a sense of wholeness that couldn't be replicated in the physical world. It also granted her knowledge she had never before imagined.

"The crystal does more than lend them the strength to fight daemons," Reina said. "Its light has the power to heal—insofar as one has the strength to wield it. Unfortunately, none of us  _do_ have enough strength to use it to fight the Starscourge, but it takes much less to keep someone healthy than to cleanse one who is already tainted."

"Has any progress been made toward a more earthly cure?" Ignis asked.

All eyes turned toward Sania.

"What good timing," Sania said. "I was just going to bring to light recent plans for an inoculation. A cure would still be a long way off, but it may just be possible to prevent many others from growing ill."

"How long?" Reina asked.

"Oh, well, these things  _usually_ take years to progress through five or six different stages of testing before approval on a kingdom-wide scale…"

"We don't have time for that," Cor said. "Lucis' population is dangerously small as is."

"Well… I suppose we might hurry some of it along…" Sania said, though she sounded doubtful.

"What would you need?" Reina asked.

In short succession resources were assigned and dispatched. She would have every biologist and doctor that they could spare to work on her Starscourge vaccine, laboratory space for all of them, and as much power as Lestallum could give them.

From there discussion shifted. The new hot houses were beginning to tax even the Glaives' abilities to supply meteorshards. At the current rate of depletion, Holly calculated that they could carry on for a few more years—provided that neither the incoming supply of meteorshards nor the output to the other settlements changed within that time. Likely, at least one of them would. No one had any compelling solutions to the problem.

Reina's mind drifted forward, a few seconds in the future, watching outcomes unroll like a veil before her. It was halfway a second sight and halfway experiencing time as a stuttering stream. The day didn't move smoothly from one point to the next, anymore, but she no longer expected it to. What mattered was that, if she focused, she could usually prevent herself from having the same conversation ten times in one day, now. It wasn't foolproof and, the truth was she still couldn't tell what was a Dream and what wasn't, but she knew it didn't matter much, anyway.

"Your Majesty—"

"Not while my brother draws breath, Weskham. I am not the queen."

_And I never will be_.

Not if that was what the Astrals had planned for her. Not if they had always meant for her to hold Lucis like they had always meant for Noctis to sacrifice his life for their own mistake.

No more.

She was done doing as she was told.

"Apologies, Your Highness." Weskham bowed his head in assent. "If I might—refugees are still arriving in Caem at a slow trickle, but it's hardly safe to transport them elsewhere in this darkness. I believe we should focus on securing safe and well-lit housing for these people above all else."

"At Caem?" Reina asked. It wasn't exactly the most buildable location.

"Or nearby—Fort Vaullerey may be close enough to reach, and it is certainly defensible."

"Those old imperial bases are still crawling with MTs," Cor said. "Those things went damn near feral after they stopped receiving orders from Niflheim; they will kill anything that sets foot in that fort."

"You've got an army of magic soldiers that can take on a hoard of daemons, and you're worried about some MTs?" Weskham asked.

"We cannot afford to waste resources sending the Glaive to clear out an imperial base. Things are stretched thin enough as is."

Reina strummed her fingers on the table. Both of them glanced toward her—either because the motion made them nervous or because they were waiting for her to settle their disagreement.

"Weskham makes a good point." Reina looked from Cor to Weskham and back. "Securing the imperial bases means more safe housing—if we can get power running then it means more space for growing food. Both of those things are worth the effort. Besides, the Glaive aren't overtasked, anymore. We've brought power to all the major settlements, evacuated all the outer ones, and Ardyn's organized attacks have ceased."

"Can we be sure they won't resume?" Cor asked.

"Yes."

She said it without pause or hesitation, and he accepted it just as easily because he thought she had Dreamed it. In fact, she hadn't spent nearly as much time, recently, trying to chase down Ardyn's future plans… she spent more time chasing him down in the present.

_What would they say if they knew…?_

Perhaps she should have been Dreaming his future. The little voice inside her head that whispered ' _you shouldn't trust him'_  was back, but she ignored it. Something told her he wasn't a threat, anymore. Something she trusted more than that suspicious little voice, even though she couldn't place it.

"Very well. We send the Glaive to Fort Vaullerey," Cor said.

"I will go, as well." Reina leaned back in her chair, glancing between the three of them. She didn't need to put on her best princess posture and dare them to challenge her. They wouldn't.

Cor looked surprised, but all he said was, "You will have my blade, if you want it, Your Highness."

Just like old times… but if she let him back in it would only make everything worse.

"No, Cor. You have enough to contend with on your own. Iris will come with me and, between the two of us and a few Glaives, we will make quick work of the feral MTs."

"As you say." Cor bowed to her wishes as he never would have done two years before. Reina considered him for a moment—considered them. Though she now had the respect from him that she had once craved, she wondered if she wouldn't have preferred his friendship instead.

"Your Highness?" Ignis sat forward in his chair. He didn't finish his question, but she guessed what he wanted, anyway: she hadn't named him among those going to Fort Vaullerey.

"Ignis, I need you here working on the food distribution. That is more important."

"I… of course," Ignis said. "If that is what you wish."

"It is." She glanced back down the table. "Is there anything else? Holly, can you supply the fort with power if we clear it?"

"Sure, no problem. It's right off the road. Won't even need a lay new lines—ours pass that point, already."

"Excellent. See that everything is ready." She rose from her chair and the others followed. "Cor. On your word."

* * *

Everyone gets hit sometimes.

That was what Cor had told Iris while she was bemoaning her most recent batch of bruises.

The trick was, he had said, to land more hits than you take. And, of course, to never take more than you can handle. They were good words; she had tried to keep them in mind during their next training together, and she certainly kept them in mind now, walking into an abandoned imperial base. But it wasn't in consoling herself that she recalled those words, today.

The MTs swarmed almost as soon as they were through the gates; just Reina, Iris, and a handful of Glaives. Iris had never fought MTs before. She drew her katana all the same, telling herself that they were really just daemons in armor. With guns. But never mind that last part.

Reina stepped out from behind her. Maybe tradition said the Shield should make an objection about that, but Iris didn't. The fact was that Rei could take care of herself. Sure, the job description said 'protect the queen,' but in practice it was better to protect herself and keep half an eye on Reina on the off chance that she actually needed backup. So that was what Iris did.

She picked her target and engaged, diving into the fray and taking its leg off with a low swing. Sparks flew when it fell; they went down easier than she had expected. But it was still moving. Iris danced backward, avoiding the spray of bullets that hit near her feet, then circled around. A second MT approached from her left, forcing her to duck under an oversized blade before she doubled back to take its head off. Its helmet flew. Iris didn't stick around to watch it land; she turned her swing on the first MT. With a crash of steel against the stone floor, she detached its arm—gun and all.

And it was still moving.

That was the trouble with robots. Or whatever the hell they were.

Iris lifted her sword and took a third swing. This one severed the head, which finally did the trick; the red glow faded from its eyes and its body stopped moving. She chose another without stopping to celebrate. Around her, Glaives streaked past in blue streams; knives flew, thunder cracked, and fire blazed. By now, she was used to those distractions. She wasn't, however, used to Reina walking unceremoniously into an army of rogue MTs.

Everyone gets hit sometimes.

Except for Reina.

She should have; she was surrounded in a circle three MTs thick on every side. But every bullet they fired shot straight past her, hitting just where she wasn't. She didn't even phase to miss them. She just… didn't stand there.

The MTs who took a swing at her were less lucky. In a flash of blue light she stepped to the side, leaving just a shadow of herself where the blades struck. But it wasn't just phasing—Iris had seen Noctis phase in combat more times than she could count and it wasn't this. This was like an explosion of light and when it faded the MTs glowed blue-white and seemed to steam faintly for a moment.

She killed a dozen, this way, never drawing her weapon of lifting a finger. Then she did draw her naginata, but only to cut down the last of the few surrounding her with deadly precision. Her blade didn't stop in between swings. It was all one motion, and she moved like she was attached to the pole. When those, too, had fallen, her weapon vanished once more and she turned, catching Iris' eye.

"Iris." She lifted her hand—the ring on her finger glowed red. "Pay attention."

Iris spun around, reflexively taking a defensive stance, to find an MT right behind her. What was she doing, getting distracted in the middle of this? She lifted her katana to cut it down, but stopped. An orb of light—red, like the glow of the ring—expanded from the MTs' chest. The MT froze, as if unable to control its own limbs anymore. The only motion it made was a sort of convulsion; then the light leapt from it's chest and the MT crashed to the floor. Dead.

The light landed in Reina's hand. Her skin glowed blue in a network of cracks—like she was crumbling stone and the magic underneath was showing through—and the natural blue of her eyes was taken over by the blue fire of her magic.

The ring's magic. Reina had control of the ring, now. No wonder they couldn't touch her; that was supposed to be worth a hundred generations of Lucian kings and the power of the crystal to boot!

"Right." Iris let out a breath. "Killing MTs. Got it!"

She turned back to the threat, but this time she kept a whole eye on Reina. Walking in, she had thought it was going to be a tight match; the rogue MTs were worse than most daemons and—from what she heard—much worse than they had been under imperial control, and they were fighting a whole base full. But she had been thinking of Reina as just another Glaive.

That was clearly wrong.

For every MT Iris and the Glaives took down, Reina killed a dozen. She didn't take a single blow in return; not a graze, not a scratch, not a bruise. That was the power of the Lucii.

Iris rejoined the fight, trying to keep her focus, this time. She met in the middle somewhere with Libertus and they swapped smiles before settling in. He didn't warp around so much as some of the other ones—it made him good for partnering. They fought back-to-back, more or less, sometimes bumping but never hitting. He covered her blind spots and she his, and soon they were racking up their own little pile of MTs.

It was nothing to the devastation Rei was leaving in her wake.

Iris had never really thought about the ring as powerful, before. Of course she knew it was—it had held a shield over the whole Crown City—but she never thought about it. It just… was. All her life, King Regis had worn it, steadily draining away his own life to maintain the Wall. It had been something innate, something solid, something immovable, much like the king himself. She had never even begun to imagine what that power could do if concentrated and turned into a weapon, instead.

And then the sky opened up.

Iris froze. She took a step back and felt Libertus do the same—their backs touched, but they were both staring at the sky. Everything grew dark—darker than usual—except for a shimmering blue shell. It wasn't a barrier, not like Reina and the Glaive used to protect themselves, nor like the Wall. It was like… it was like she could see the edge of reality. And it was cracking.

Fractures ran through the surface of the shell. Iris resettled her grip on her katana, but it didn't make her feel any better; she couldn't fight something that could put a crack in the world.

In a burst of light, it shattered. Reality shattered. The world wasn't whole anymore. It opened up and it pulled at them like a tide dragging them out to sea. Iris planted her feet, but her feet slid. She threw one hand out to Libertus and he grabbed onto her, anchoring her in place. All around, the other Glaives did the same; the MTs weren't so lucky.

The shell cracked and crumbled; great chunks of it were pulled, along with the MTs, out into… nothing. It was just great, empty blackness and it spread on and on, even as Iris watched, taking over the whole sky until there was nothing but nothing.

And she had thought the unnatural night was dark.

Iris dug her fingers into Libertus' arm. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the sky to look at him, but something told her he was doing the same thing. Everyone was: just staring in awe and horror at so much nothing.

And then, even that collapsed in on itself. The blackness pulled in and beyond she could almost see the world again. When the edges reached the center, red light exploded, blinding them. Iris threw up her arms to shield her eyes, but it didn't last long. In its wake, it left a shimmering red energy in the sky… the hole was all closed up and the world was whole once more.

All around the base, the Glaives stood, exchanging horrified looks. In the center of it all, Reina stood with her arm outstretched, the glow just fading on the ring. Her skin was still cracked with light when she dropped her hand and turned toward Iris—Iris wished she wouldn't; the fire in her eyes made her look like she wasn't human anymore. It was creepy.

Almost as creepy as the fact that she could open up reality and eject people out into… nothing.

"Hol-y shit." Libertus' words about summed up everyone's feelings, though they didn't quite describe the hair-raising sensation that went along with finding out the girl she had grown up admiring wasn't… quite… human.

The light faded, leaving Reina looking much like herself, again.

"Let's go," she said, as if she hadn't just jettisoned three dozen MTs into the void. "The engineers from EXINERIS will want to get to work as soon as possible."

She walked back toward the entrance. Everyone else just watched her go, turning but not following. Probably they were all thinking the same thing:

They could have just sent Rei and cleaned out the base in equal time or less.


	43. Soul Search

###### 10 June, 759:

After a brief discussion with the EXINERIS engineers, who had followed behind them, Iris and Reina loaded back into the car and left for Lestallum, leaving a contingent of Glaives behind to hold the fort. Something about the looks they gave Reina made her think they were full glad to be rid of her. Perhaps it was because her own hatred of them reflected back. Or, more likely, perhaps it was because she had just torn open the sky and no one had been prepared to witness that.

Even Iris seemed to shoot her sidelong glances on the drive back.

It didn't bother her as much as it should have. Inside, where there should have been a heart, was just a deep, dark hole.

She couldn't be one of them, anymore. She had known it the moment she pulled the first strand of magic through the ring and felt power beyond anything she had ever imagined leap to her call. It had coursed through her like liquid fire in her veins—scorching her, scarring her. Even now, even though the light had faded, she could feel that power tingling across her skin. She could almost see the faint, pale lines on her skin, still—like she had shattered and healed, leaving behind marks.

That was to be expected. She couldn't tear a hole in the world without tearing one in herself, too. The power of the Lucii—the power of the crystal—always came with a price. It was one she had been willing to pay since the moment she had first put on the ring. Even now, even after everything she had done today, she understood:

This was only a fraction of what the ring could do.

The ring drew power from the crystal. Even from across Eos, she could feel her bond to the crystal; she could feel the line pulsing as it fed the ring more power, day by day. It still had years to go, but in the meantime it drew that power straight from the crystal, like trying to tame the raw fire of Eos' core. What would she have been able to do if the crystal was closer?

Perhaps she would find out. Perhaps she would go get it, like Noctis had meant to do in the first place. She could, now—of that she had no doubt. But transportation was still as much of an issue as it had ever been and she couldn't leave Lucis on its own. They needed her, now more than ever—perhaps more than they had ever needed their monarch and protector. Because no one before her had ever held so much pure, unadulterated power in their hands. No one before her had needed it so much.

And no one else—neither the kings nor the people of Lucis—understood what that felt like.

Only one other person knew. Only one other recognized what it did to a person to hold the world in their hands and tear it open.

A year ago she would have laughed at anyone who suggested Ardyn would ever be the only person who understood her. A year ago she hadn't known the truth. A year ago she hadn't seen what They had done. A year ago she hadn't plunged her hands into the heart of Eos and filled herself with magma.

And so, when the Glaives whispered behind her back, it didn't bother her. When Iris said not a single word the whole way back, it didn't bother her. When she passed through the crowd of people on Lestallum's streets, earning puzzled looks and murmurs when she didn't even glance at them, it didn't bother her.

She passed Cor in the Leville lobby. He opened his mouth to say something but she silenced him with a motion.

No words. Not now. Not anymore.

She wasn't one of them, anymore. She wasn't really human, anymore.

Cor turned to watch her climb the stairs—she knew, not because she looked back at him, but because the staircase curved and she could see him out of the corner of her eye whether she intended to or not. And when Iris joined him in the lobby and they exchanged conspiratorial whispers… she told herself it didn't bother her.

Ignis wasn't in the room when she arrived. Just as well. The only company she wanted at that moment was from someone who understood. From someone who knew all the uncomfortable truths that she knew. From someone she never had to hide from.

Ironic. Hadn't she spent three years hiding from him?

She dropped into one of the armchairs and the In-Between. The twisting streams ran past events, and she could look into any moment in time that she pleased, like peering in windows from the outside. She could also look into other places. And for some reason—whether due to years of practice or some other, deeper reason—she could always find Ardyn.

Or perhaps it was he who always found her.

The place they met wasn't Insomnia. It just looked like it—the same way that the place she sat with her father wasn't really his room. This was the throne room, just as Reina had seen it in her Dreams—crumbling and dark—because Ardyn was the one who had shaped it. He could change this world as easily as she could. Just one more thing they had in common.

"So… your first taste of your birthright. How does it feel, little Dreamer?" He was sitting on the throne, as he usually was when she found him here. It didn't bother her as much as it used to. It didn't bother her as much as it should have.

Didn't he have as much right to that throne as she did? She didn't even want it. Let him hold it, then.

"Terrifying," Reina said, because she couldn't have lied to him if she wanted to.

He laughed—low, rolling, oily like his voice—and finally looked up at her. "Terrifying because no one should hold so much power…? Or terrifying because you want to?"

"Both."

"Mmm…" He smiled at whatever private joke he shared with himself.

But he understood.

"Every little step you take away from Their false-gilded road takes you deeper into the darkness. You have what you never thought you would." He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "And even though you never knew you wanted it, now that you've had a taste you cannot have enough. Rebellion tastes sweet, doesn't it, little Dreamer?"

He understood.

* * *

No one spoke to Reina, after that. They all cast her wary looks from the moment they walked out of the base to the moment Reina and Iris drove away. Iris was no exception. She tried once or twice, sitting in the car next to Rei but the words wouldn't come. What could she even say to that?

'Hi, Rei, couldn't help but notice, but you seem to be able to  _open up the Gods-damned void and throw people into it._ ' ?

'Sorry to bother you, but  _what the fuck just happened?_ ' ?

'So, what do you suppose is for dinner?' ?

Iris discarded each one individually, the whole way back. Reina didn't seem to notice—either that or she didn't care. She was staring out the window, utterly still, without making a sound. It was… kind of creepy. Had she always been like that, and Iris just hadn't noticed? Or had doing… whatever it was that she had done… had some effect on her as well? Was she as freaked out by her power as they were?

No. A single glance was enough to discard that possibility. Reina wasn't troubled; she was utterly placid. That magnificent stoicism that Iris had always admired in her was now everything that she was. It wasn't like the hollow look she had worn right after Insomnia had fallen. It wasn't like the cold front she put up to cope with being thrust into the effective throne. Back then there had been something underneath. Iris had seen it; she had talked to it.

Now she didn't want to.

So they made the whole drive in thick silence. Iris clenched and unclenched her hands against the steering wheel, shooting Reina the occasional sidelong glance. Reina was like a statue. She didn't even seem to breathe.

When they reached Lestallum, Reina walked through without speaking to or acknowledging anyone. Not even Cor. She just lifted her hand to shut him up and walked away without even looking back. Iris stopped in the lobby beside him, watching her go up.

"Does she seem worse, recently, to you?" Cor asked.

Iris nodded, tight-lipped. "But I don't think it's the Dreams."

Not by themselves. The waking Dreams made her detached from them, but she still cared underneath, she still wanted to try. Now she didn't. Iris still wrote notes to her, but they all went unanswered. She wasn't even sure Reina was readinging them anymore.

Cor looked sharply at her. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno. I just think it's something else. You know she controls the ring, now? I thought she couldn't figure out how to do that," Iris said.

Cor's brow furrowed. He looked back up the stairs, but Reina was long gone.

"I thought so, too," he said.

"Don't think she really needs a Shield, anymore," Iris said.

As soon as she did—that spark of pain like poking at a splinter she hadn't known was there—she knew  _that_ was the problem. It wasn't that Reina had world-shattering power though, to be clear, that was also unsettling. But what really bothered her was that Reina didn't need her, anymore. They weren't really friends anymore. They weren't really sisters. Reina didn't come and sit with her on the roof anymore, didn't confide in her, didn't connect with her. She had already cut out most of the Shield's duties and today made it perfectly clear that she didn't need the protection, either.

Cor looked back down at her. Something about his expression made her expect a scolding, so she hastily added, "I know, I know you said that if I do my job right it won't look like she needs protecting, but Cor—you didn't see her, today—she's  _invincible_. She killed MTs just by phase-dodging!"

For a moment he continued to look at her like he was still preparing a lecture. He was going to remind her that being a Shield was about more than being a bodyguard, but—

Cor sighed. "I don't know what to do for her, anymore. All we can do is be here if she does have need and adapt when she doesn't. In the meantime… if you want more fieldwork there are openings in the Glaive rosters. Just let Monica know."

Somehow, it was more disheartening to know that Cor didn't have any ideas, either. It felt a little like giving up, which Iris didn't want to do. She  _had_ taken her Shield vows and her dad wouldn't have given up. He  _always_ stayed by King Regis, no matter what.

But how could she be Shield for a queen who didn't even want her?

"Gladio and Prompto are in town," Cor changed the subject without warning. "In the kitchen."

"Gladdy…" The last time they discussed it, he hadn't thought she was strong enough to be Reina's Shield. What would he think if he knew she was having second thoughts?

But maybe he could help.

"Thanks, Cor. I'm gonna go say hi."

Cor made a sound of acknowledgement, which she knew was the closest she was going to get to a farewell, so she waved and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. Most of the hunters and Glaives ate in the dining hall, now. But sometimes a couple people would gather in the kitchens for quiet conversation. This afternoon, she found, as promised, Gladio and Prompto. Ignis was with them, as well.

"Gladdy!"

He turned to look when she entered, giving her a lopsided smile as he rose to his feet.

"Hey Iris."

She pounced, all worries temporarily forgotten, and threw her arms around his neck. She was flying. He lifted her off her feet like she weighed nothing and spun her around once, twice, before setting her back down. When he did, Iris beamed up at him.

"I hear you guys went out to take over an imperial base. Wish I coulda gone along; haven't cut up any MTs in a while." He took his seat again and Iris sat down beside him. "It's just endless daemons up near Meldacio."

The reminder of what had happened at the fort and everything after made her stomach churn.

"Yeah…" Iris traced the grain of the tabletop with one finger, back and forth, not looking up at any of them.

"Huh? What happened?" Gladio nudged her.

She glanced up at him. If nothing else, she could explain what had happened. They were all going to hear sooner or later, anyway—information spread through the Leville faster than gossip through an all-girls high school. So she told them. The whole story from start to finish: from Reina using the ring and that awe-inspiring, yet terrifying, power to Reina's subsequent silence and withdrawal.

When she fell silent, no one responded for a few moments. She worked up the courage to look up at Gladio and found him looking at her; he looked surprised, but not disbelieving, which was nice.

"Damn," he said, "Noct used the ring a bit in Niflheim, but he never did anything like that—not that I saw."

"It's a good thing she's on our side!" Prompto lifted his mug. "With that and the seeing-the-future all the time thing, we'd be in a bunch of trouble if she ever decided to stop protecting people."

"Her Highness is, without a doubt, a formidable woman," Ignis said.

"Yeah… it was pretty crazy. I guess I'm just struggling to figure out where I fit, now." Iris fought to keep her voice level. She was eighteen, damn it, and she was the Princess' Shield! She wasn't going to cry in front of her brother's friends. "'Cause she probably doesn't really need me, anymore, but Cor said I could join the Glaive's rounds..."

"Hey." Gladio nudged her again. "This is important, so look at me."

She did.

"The royal family doesn't just pull fire out of thin air and turn sodas into potions. The ring—the crystal—those things came from the  _Gods_  two thousand years ago and every generation they get stronger. By now, the Lucii are stronger than the Gods—that's the whole point, that's why Noctis can do this thing and the Gods can't. I know it was easy to forget, growing up, because Noct was such a fuck-up and King Regis never used that power except to maintain the Wall, but it's always been like this. It's not always nice or pretty. But the Caelums do whatever they've gotta do to protect the kingdom.

"And the choices ain't just black and white. Sometimes they've gotta walk the line. And sometimes they've gotta use this and it makes you wonder if anyone should have that kinda power. But that's the whole point. They're the only ones who can use it 'cause the Gods chose them, 'cause the royal line is worthy of it. You can believe that—you can trust in that—and you've gotta. Because that's your job: the Amicitias protect the Caelums; the Caelums protect the world.

"Takes a whole lot of strength to hold the world together when it's falling apart."

Everything he said made sense. It was the whole point of the royal line that they could wield unearthly magic. And she had always been proud to be an Amicitia, even if she was never going to be the King's Shield, but King's Shield seemed to mean a lot more when King Regis was on the throne. He had been a good king and a nice man—everyone agreed on that—but no one doubted, either, that he did need someone to protect him. He hadn't even been able to lift his own sword for the last few years.

Reina was not like that.

"She doesn't need to be protected."

Gladio scoffed. "If you've convinced yourself of that, then you're already going wrong."

Iris wrinkled her nose at him.

"I ain't saying that Reina is some storybook princess who's all glass and flowers and shit. Everyone knows she can handle herself. But that ain't what a Shield is for," he said. "Not everything, anyway. You know that. Dad stuck by King Regis even though he hadn't been in combat in decades. Friends make you stronger; she's gonna need all the strength she can get."

"Yeah…" Iris said, but how was she supposed to be friends with Reina when all she did was push everyone away?

"You really think I can do it?"

"'Course I do. You're an Amicitia, aren't you? Don't go letting Dad down, now."

"Right." Iris held onto the bench and kicked her feet.

It helped to know Gladio didn't think she couldn't handle it, anymore. She still didn't know where she fit in or how she was going to be Reina's Shield. She still wasn't sure if they were ever going to be friends again. But she  _did_ know she didn't want to let her dad down.

She wrapped her fingers around the medallion hanging around her neck.

_I won't let you down, Dad._


	44. Questions

__

######  _29 July, 759:_

Three years ago, Ignis had seen his last sight. Given the choice, he wouldn't have chosen Ardyn's face, but he hadn't been. The tradeoff had been worth it. That was what he reminded himself every hour, every day, every month that passed afterward while he stumbled through a black world.

Everything had changed, that day. He hadn't realized how much he relied on his eyes, before. Not just for the obvious—of course the world was built for the seeing—but losing that one sense had broken so many others, like pulling a block from the bottom of a tower. Everything that he ever was—calm, organized, self-assured—had crumbled without sight.

Looking back, he never would have made it without her.

Certainly, he would have survived. He would have persevered. But the man who came out on the other side wouldn't have been the same one.

She found him—fallen in the dark—gathered up all the pieces, and fit them together again. They didn't fit together the same way, anymore—they had learned that together. More than once he had threatened to fall apart all over again, but she held him up, glued the pieces back together with a persistent belief that he  _could_  stand on his own until, eventually, he began to believe it himself.

That was who she was to him. The woman he had always loved, yes; the most wonderfully capable and competent woman in Lucis, yes. But more than that: his savior; the one who believed in him when no one else—not even he—could.

He could never repay that. Not because he believed he had some deep-seated deficiency, no. But because it was so significant, so monumental, that the mere statistical likelihood of something similar happening to her was almost nonexistent.

And yet, she did struggle.

He was at her side whenever she reached for him—and often when she didn't, as well. When she faltered, he had confidence in her. The very least he could do after all she had given was to believe in her.

And so he hadn't asked, before. Everyone else had or, if they hadn't, they had made some hint about it. Each time she had responded, either directly or indirectly, leaving no space for doubt: she had seen King Regis when she put on the Ring of the Lucii, but never since. At first, Ignis hadn't even questioned. After all, if she had seen him again, after so long of wishing for just that, after asking if  _he_ had seen the king, she would have told him. It would have been the first thing she shared.

At least, that was what he had thought, a year ago.

"Do you think she speaks to the king's spirit?" Cor had asked him one day, just a few months previously, without preamble.

At the time he had only been surprised.

"What reason would she have for lying?" Ignis had asked.

But Cor would say nothing more than, "I don't know…" in a way that suggested  _not_ knowing was worse.

Now Ignis wondered.

Reina didn't wake at night from her Dreams, anymore. He could write that off as her learning more control—if she understood her visions and she knew what they were and how to escape them, then she wouldn't react so strongly. That didn't quite hold up to scrutiny, though. Didn't she say herself, time and time again, that she couldn't tell the difference between Dreams and reality? If so then even controlling them wouldn't change her reaction to nightmares. And yet, something had.

She didn't speak to Ignis, anymore, either. Once, she had let him see the vulnerability underneath the hard exterior she cultivated. She had let him dry her tears, hold her when she was afraid. Once, she had told him her doubts and worries and let him soothe them. That had begun to disappear when her waking Dreams grew unmanageable and, though it had been painful, he justified it by telling himself she  _was_ still open to him, still letting him do those things, just not during  _this_ iteration of reality. If she Dreamed telling him her doubts and he responded in kind, wasn't that all that mattered?

Except she didn't Dream uncontrollably as much, anymore—or so she had said. She didn't usually finish conversations before they had begun, and it seemed possible for people to genuinely catch her off-guard. And yet, in spite of this, her shell never opened up for him.

He couldn't believe she was empty inside. People felt things—that didn't just disappear overnight. And people needed someone they could confide in, otherwise they would break or burst and Reina gave no indication of doing either of those things. Her control was impeccable.

So he was forced to consider the possibility that she  _was_ confiding in someone…

Just not him.

Who else would she talk to?

At first he had considered a dozen earthly possibilities—she had grown closer with Cor, Weskham, and even Cid over those months, perhaps one of them…? Or Iris, her Shield, who took her position nearly as seriously as Gladio had?

But no.

Even before the fall of Insomnia, Reina had been a quiet, self-contained girl. The only people she confided in were her brother and her father. Both of them were gone, now, and yet… she had the ring. She had already admitted to speaking to the other Lucii a second time.

Eventually, he had to ask.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her and his feet still on the floor. She was already settled, unmoving. She didn't seem to have as much trouble sleeping, these days, either. Something told him it wasn't because of his presence.

"Reina…"

He knew that asking meant questioning or—more aptly—admitting that he  _had_ been questioning her honesty. It meant expressing that he didn't trust her.

But could he, really? For the past few months she had grown progressively more withdrawn, more secretive. Those Glaives who had gone to Fort Vaullerey with her told horror stories about what had occurred and they all now gave her a wide berth. Anyone she went out with on a mission came back with similar tales. And while the power itself was no reason not to trust her—after all, she was meant to hold that power—the fact that she wouldn't speak a word about it after so long of struggling to find some way to control the ring was concerning.

"Do you see your father? Do you speak to him…?"

A part of him was still hoping she would say no. Of course she hadn't seen the king—she would have said so already. The answer would be immediate, surely—

It wasn't.

The silence stretched for a moment and Ignis already knew what the answer was. He hung his head. So that was it, then. The end of this trust. If he couldn't trust one thing that she said, what was to stop him from questioning all the others?

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" He asked, hushed.

The bed shifted as she sat up. "Because it is no one's business but mine."

"Isn't it?" He asked, head still bowed, though annoyance sparked in his chest. "Do you suppose that no one else should like to speak with him? That Cor would not wish you to deliver his apologies? That Cid would not wish his regrets heard? That Weskham would not wish the king to have his farewells—his promises?"

Reina said nothing.

"And for the rest of us… it  _is_ important to know that you have the support you require and, furthermore, where it comes from," Ignis continued. "Your father… was a great man. But this is not in your best interests. He is gone and you must accept that."

" _This_ is why I did not tell you," she said. "But you can save your breath; he isn't gone. He's right here, with me."

The annoyance expanded and grew until it could only be called anger. Years ago, he had thought she was merely a daughter devoted to her father. But this wasn't devotion.

It was obsession.

He lifted his head. "You know as well as I that the ring will not survive until dawn. What will you do when it is time for his spirit to be laid to rest at last?"

"The things that I know and have not shared would fill libraries." Her voice was cold—even harsh—now. "Do you believe the ring contains only the power of the ages? It contains the wisdom, as well."

"Then why would you not tell us?" Ignis had to fight to keep his voice even.

"Because some things were buried on purpose. Because not everyone is ready to know what I know. Because the things I know, the things I've seen, the things I've  _done_ would turn your blood."

"You do not need to bear that alone."

A pause, then: "I'm not alone."

So that was it, then. Ignis stood up. He didn't turn to face her; most of those reflexes had faded after two years of being pointless. He couldn't see her, anyway. He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

"No. But you will be, when the ring is gone."

He walked away and she didn't try to stop him. He wasn't sure if that bothered him or not, yet.

The stairs creaked on the way down. They hadn't always. It seemed that three years of constant traffic and questionable maintenance had done a number on the Leville. No one had time to care for the small things, now. The darkness, the world they lived in, it made everyone question what was really important.

His feet hit the last step of the curving staircase. To the right, voices indicated that someone, at least, was still up in the kitchen. He hesitated, passing a hand over his face. He could use a drink, but he wasn't certain that he wanted company.

What had he been thinking, walking out like that?

Prompto's voice rang out clear from the kitchens, followed by Gladio's—less audible for the pitch. Ignis sighed. Those two, at least, he could handle.

He didn't need his cane to pick out the familiar path down the hall, nor did he need to feel the line of the wall as he passed but he did that, anyway. He rounded the corner, following the familiar voices, and felt his fingers slip over the open door. The kitchens were warm, which was something of a blessing in a world without a sun, and the lingering smell of dinner hung in the air.

"Iggy!" Prompto's voice, too loud in the small room, echoed off the walls.

"Hey, Iggy." Gladio was more restrained.

"Good evening," he said, though he had his doubts that it was.

"You lookin' for something in particular?" Gladio asked.

Ignis stepped forward with one hand held in front of him to touch the edge of the table when he reached it. Gladio was to his right. Prompto's voice was farther—across the table.

"A glass of wine, perhaps." Ignis pulled out a chair and sat, perhaps less elegantly than he was wont, with both hands on his cane. "Or a bottle."

"Uh oh," said Prompto.

"Something up?" Gladio's chair scraped when he stood.

Ignis tapped his cane against the ground and let out a sigh. What could he even say? Reina clearly didn't want people knowing that she was in touch with King Regis' spirit. Whatever he might have thought about keeping that to herself, it wasn't his choice to make. And the rest? The fact that he had just told her to get over her father's death? That he told her she was going to be alone and left her that way?

_You fool, Ignis_.

Gladio approached, stopping just beside Ignis' chair. He set something down on the table—or, rather, two somethings—glass against wood, light then heavy.

"I won't tell Weskham if you don't," Gladio said.

Ignis slid his hands over the tabletop and found a stemmed glass and a mostly-full bottle.

"My thanks." He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass.

It was a bitter red, but that was about what he felt like, just now. These bottles were new, from the grapes grown in Cauthess. Even in hard times— _especially_ in hard times—someone would brew wine. It was just as well.

Prompto and Gladio were both silent or, at least, they didn't speak. He could hear Gladio breathing, two seats away. Across the table, Prompto fidgeted. He never could sit still.

They were waiting for him to say something else, he realized.

"Reina and I have… had a disagreement. I may have said some things I regret." That was an understatement.

The silence thickened. Prompto stopped fidgeting; Gladio stopped breathing.

"Whoa," Prompto said, at length. "I thought you guys had like… the ideal  _thing_."

Ignis smiled, bitter, and took another drink to wash the taste away because even the wine was less sour than that. "I fear not."

"What're you gonna do about it?" Gladio asked.

"I thought I might find the answer at the bottom of this glass." He chimed the wine glass with one finger.

They were quiet again for a moment. Ignis finished his wine, but found no epiphany in the empty glass.

"Well," Gladio said, "Whatever it is, I know you guys'll find a way to sort it out."

Sort it out. Ignis wasn't even sure that Reina  _wanted_ to sort it out. She seemed to care less and less for the company of the living with each passing day. Evidently, that included him.

"I know, 'cause I know you don't give up on people," said Gladio.

"Yeah! You'll work it out, Iggy. How many times did you get annoyed with Noct, growing up? That always worked out," Prompto said.

Ignis' first thought was that Noctis and Reina were such different people that it was hard to believe they were twins, sometimes.

His second was that this wasn't true at all.

What had Noctis done, when he found himself in a world of daemons and bad dreams, terrified of losing those closest to him and certain that he was going to fail when he only meant not to disappoint?

He had withdrawn. After the accident, he had stopped talking, stopped engaging, stopped  _trying_ , except where his sister was concerned. Eventually, with more patience than he was sure he could muster at the time, Ignis had gotten through as well. When he had, it was to find a boy very different to the one he had once known, inside. But that didn't mean Ignis had loved him any less.

"You're right." Ignis set his empty glass on the table. "I'll make sure of it."

Prompto let out a cheer. "Attaboy, Iggy!"

"Damn straight," said Gladio.

Perhaps she had meant that she wanted to be left alone. Perhaps she even believed it, in part. But that hardly mattered; just because a person wanted something didn't mean that thing was best for them.

* * *

It hurt to push him away.

Two tears escaped and ran down her cheeks.

She tried to focus on her annoyance—how dare he tell her to get over Father's death, like that was something she could just  _do_?—But frustration drained through the cracks until nothing remained except resignation.

" _It is better this way,"_ said the voice in the back of her mind. " _You know it to be true."_

It sounded like Ardyn, whispering little truths in her ear, whether he meant them or not.

It  _was_  better this way, in the long run. Better for Ignis, at least. And better for Cor and Iris and Weskham and everyone else. It was better they didn't know, better they didn't get too close.

" _You won't have to face it all alone."_

Reina shut her eyes and wiped her hands over her face. She let out a breath. Not alone.

" _I'll have a surprise for you, soon, you know…"_

_What is it?_ If she focused, she could see him in the darkness behind her eyelids.

" _If I told you, it would hardly be a surprise."_

She  _should_ have been concerned that nothing Ardyn counted as a surprise was ever going to be a good thing for her or her people. But she wasn't. That lack of fear—lack of even apprehension—worried her more than anything.

_What am I turning into?_

He laughed like crushed velvet covered in oil. " _Something better than the little girl who always did as she was told."_

* * *

When he returned, the room was quiet. He traced the wall through the sitting room and turned the corner to the bedroom, finding the door open. In the doorway he paused, listening. Had she gone out again? It wouldn't have been the first time she had disappeared in the middle of the night, seeking solitude. Or perhaps it wasn't solitude she was after. Perhaps it was King Regis' company. When she had said she was talking to ghosts, he hadn't thought she meant so literally.

But no.

Her breath whispered in the air, slow and steady. She was still here. Asleep. It had been less than a year ago when she could hardly sleep without Ignis. Even then, her nights were troubled. Now they weren't. Had she fallen asleep in her father's company, instead?

Ignis sighed. He couldn't think like that; it would only tear them apart. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. If the king's spirit made that load feel lighter, who was he to tell her it was wrong? Shouldn't she have been allowed to take solace wherever she could find it?

_It used to be me_.

He lowered onto the edge of the bed, crushing out the bitter little voice in the back of his mind. What did it matter whom she leaned on? It was time to call a spade a spade.

_Jealousy will get me nowhere._

He pulled his shoes off, ignoring the thoughts that tried to justify his brackish feelings. Yes, it was unhealthy for her to fixate on a dead man, but he was never going to convince her of that. Not now; not in this state. She needed to let go, but she wouldn't do it without help. If he could just help her stand on her own two feet first, then maybe—just maybe—she could do it. And he certainly couldn't do that if all he felt was jealousy for a man who had been dead for three years.

Behind him, Reina slept on, peacefully oblivious of the silent war raging inside his head. He turned, sliding his legs into bed, and reached out to find her. She had her back to him. He traced his fingers up, from hip to shoulder, and settled in behind her so her back fit against his chest. When he wrapped his arms around her, she stirred.

"Ignis?"

He hesitated. In spite of knowing how easy it was to wake her, he hadn't decided beforehand on what—if anything—to say. He had to start somewhere, however.

"I… owe you an apology. The burden of the ring and rule is a heavy one, and you are right to say it is none of my business how you manage it. While I hope that I, myself, might be involved in whatever solution you settle on, I should never presume to make that choice for you. And regardless of what else happens I  _will_ be beside you. Until the very end."

She didn't respond, not immediately. The silence stretched long enough that he began to doubt. She was pushing everyone away, retreating farther with each passing day and if he did not follow her now he feared he would never be able to reach her again. If she denied him this, if she told him to stay behind, he would be left following in her wake, waiting to catch her if she faltered and knowing she would never thank him for it.

He had stopped breathing.

She hadn't.

He heard the hitch in her breath and gave a start. He trailed his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and up her neck to find tears on her cheek, so he brushed them away. Tears meant she felt something. Tears meant that his words had reached inside, past that shell.

He breathed again.

She turned in his arms and wrapped hers around his neck.

"I can't…" she said, "I can't tell you. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't tell me." He held her, running his hands over her back and through her hair.

"It would be better if you didn't care."

"That is not even a possibility." He caught her face in his hands, brushing away a fresh batch of tears. "So put it out of your mind. Because you cannot change what I feel any more than I can change what you will do."

She didn't respond except to lean forward and kiss him. And for that night, at least, she fell asleep in his arms.


	45. Mutually Beneficial

__

######  _27 August, 759:_

It became something of a routine for them. Though Reina still cherished the time she had with her father more than anything else, he didn't understand her quite the same way Ardyn did. He was irate about the Astrals, certainly—as were all the kings of old—and he supported her use of the full power available to her for the protection of their people. But he didn't feel quite the same sense of injustice, he didn't share the same burning desire to  _fix it_  any way that he could.

And so, on those days when her father was too bright and too pure for the darkness growing inside her, she sought Ardyn's company, instead—always in Dreams and never in person, though they usually met in a place that looked like the ruined Citadel.

It was a peculiar sort of truce. They had an understanding—insofar as motivations went, even if they didn't both want the world in the same state when everything was through. And so with that understanding came the silent agreement that this was but a temporary arrangement. Given the chance, he would still kill her; when Noctis returned, Reina would still stand with him against Ardyn. Nothing had really changed.

On the outside, at least.

But Ardyn was a wellspring of knowledge—information lost in time or intentionally buried by history. Even with their understanding, he would never simply share it with her. That everything was a game to him would never change—if she wanted to know how—and what—he knew about her Dreams, the true history behind the ring and crystal, or the mechanics of how their magic functioned she would have to play his games to whatever end.

So she did. He shared only what he wanted when he wanted, and his game of preference seemed to be dropping hints and letting her follow the crumbs. She used it to her benefit—drawing out conversations and giving him the opportunity to bait her. And she followed, reminding herself—as was frequently necessary, lest she grow exasperated with him—that it  _was_ just a game and that it would likely behoove her to keep him amused.

The chair beside the throne was gone, else she might have sat there instead of stretching out across the dais with her back on the floor and her feet propped up against one arm of the throne. Then again, this wasn't really Insomnia.

"Do you ever wish you could see him, again?" She asked. "Your brother?"

"Whyever would I want to see him?" Ardyn sat draped across the throne, his back against the arm that her feet were on and his legs hanging over the other.

"To talk to him. To make amends."

"Oh, how foolish of me. We are, after all, the same—you and I. If the little princess wants everyone to get along with rainbows and posies, so, too, must I." His voice lost the mocking, dry note almost without transition: "The only thing I have ever wanted to say to Somnus was—" He drew a blade from nothing and stabbed the air above the throne with a soft hissing sound. Then he laughed. The sword vanished. "But I already did."

Reina tilted her head to one side, looking up at him. "You killed your own brother?"

"Of  _course_ I killed him. Come now, little Dreamer—what does your history book say about the Mystic's death?"

She considered.

"That he gave his life pushing back against the dark."

"And what is the dark?"

"The Starscourge."

"And what is the Starscourge?"

She blinked. He met her gaze levelly, waiting while a crooked smile twisted across his lips.

"You," she said.

He spread his hands, as if acknowledging a commendation. "Ta-dah!"

So many things were written and taught in convoluted language that she had never bothered to think about, before. 'The darkness' was always some sort of abstract concept in her mind, though she knew it had to do with the scourge. Even so, the connection had never been quite so clear. It had never occurred to her to interpret it quite so literally  _as_ the Starscourge. Or as Ardyn.

"Why did they write it that way?" Sometimes, if she was very lucky—or highly successful at keeping him amused—he would answer an outright question.

Today she was lucky.

"So that no one would understand what it meant. 'Darkness' is not the only euphemism; what language shrouds the  _Chosen King's_ rise to power?" He said 'Chosen King' as if it was a dirty word.

"That… he will ascend to the throne."

"Precisely. It may have been an error acquired through the ages—or perhaps even encouraged, in order to hide the true meaning. 'Ascend  _to_  the throne' makes sense, but the original phrasing was that he would 'Ascend  _at_ the throne.' Ascension, you see, does not refer to his taking the crown or the title or anything that goes along with it. Rather, it is a word chosen by the Gods to mask what they meant:  _transcend_. As in: he will transcend this mortal coil, leaving his life and body behind so that he might meet me on the way to the Beyond."

Knowing what she knew of Noctis' fate, Ardyn's explanation made so much more sense than the prophecy people had been quoting all her life. How had she never seen it, before?

"Or, perhaps I give the Gods too much credit and, in fact, the word 'ascend' was chosen quite on accident due to a lapse of intelligence. I cannot begin to fathom what few thoughts chase around inside their tiny minds."

"Their heads are massive."

"Which just makes it all the more comical to imagine a miniscule brain—" he held up a thumb and a forefinger just a centimeter apart to illustrate "—rattling around in all that empty space."

She  _did_ imagine it. And, against every intention, she smiled—in disbelief, exasperation, amusement—and shook her head.

"Is this what you do with your spare time?" She asked.

"Two thousand years spares a great deal of time." It wasn't really an answer, but she assumed it was an affirmative, all the same. "More significant, perhaps, is the fact that, throughout, they did very little of—"

Ardyn's words cut off. The throne room dissolved; the floor beneath her dropped and she was upright without having ever stood up. She was on the balcony attached to her room in the pitch black morning, exactly where she had been when she had shut her eyes an indefinite amount of time ago. Behind her, someone pounded at the outside door.

And back to the real world.

"Reina?" Ignis' voice drifted from the dark bedroom.

"I'll get it."

The world felt too solid as she crossed to the door. She should have been able to change it at will, to adjust its shape and form with a thought. In the In-Between, the whole world reacted to her thoughts and whims. Compared to that, the real world felt heavy, and she was weighed down by a body that was disappointingly real. Her feet moved too slowly. Her hand seemed to fumble with the door handle before she could open it.

Cor was on the other side.

"News from Caem," he said, without preamble, "Weskham sends word of power outages. People are getting nervous and the daemons are getting closer— "

The world stuttered.

"—Reina?" Ignis' voice drifted through the open balcony door from the dark bedroom.

She turned from the railing. "It's just Cor. You might as well get dressed—we'll leave for Caem, soon."

Her legs felt less like lead, this time, when she walked to the door and pulled it open.

"News—"

"Tell Holly to put a group together—chocobos, whatever they need. Then prepare a contingent of Glaives to protect the engineers."

Cor shut his mouth. Why were they were still surprised when she knew what they were going to say?

"And the people in Caem?" He asked.

"I'll see to them." She closed the door.

" _It's terribly rude to leave without saying goodbye_ ," said the voice in her head.

 _And I would_ never  _be rude to you._

She turned away, glancing at herself in the mirror because she couldn't remember what she was wearing—or what time it was, though she gathered it was morning, if Ignis was still abed. She was dressed, however. She remembered doing that, but, then again, she remembered a lot of things that had never happened.

Ardyn laughed, not in her ears so much as it was in her head. " _I nearly forgot to tell you, amidst our_ titillating  _conversation… your surprise is waiting for you in Insomnia."_

Ah yes. The surprise he had hinted at months ago. And he wasn't going to tell her what it was, presumably.

"I'll be downstairs. Come when you're ready." She slipped outside without waiting for Ignis' response. It wasn't as if he needed her help to get dressed or walk downstairs, anymore.

 _Not even a hint?_ She asked Ardyn.

" _Oh, you should know what it is, by now. I would be astounded if you did not feel it."_

Feel it? Something she should sense intuitively, then? For the moment, she had no concept of what that might be. She would worry about it another time.

* * *

Reina left without a word; he heard the door open and shut twice while he was still buttoning his shirt. That was just the way things were, now. He couldn't tell, of course, if she said nothing because she was redoubling her efforts to push him away, again—which wasn't unprecedented—or because she thought she  _had_ said something.

Either way, he followed in her wake, out the door, down the curling stairs, over the creaking step, and through the hall to the council room. Cor was already there, listing off names of Glaives.

"...should do it." His voice came from the right of the doorway as Ignis entered—not sitting at the table, then. Something had happened that required immediate action.

"I'll put them together right now." Monica was also to the right, but the sound of footsteps—growing closer—followed her words. "Good morning, Ignis."

"Good morning." He stepped aside, fully into the room, so she could pass. "What has occurred?"

"A report came from Caem requesting aid with faulty power lines," Cor said, "And we've just received word from EXINERIS that they went fully dark a few minutes ago."

Small wonder no one was sitting down.

"Who do you mean to take with you to Caem?" Cor turned away from Ignis when he spoke—a few years ago, Ignis never would have noted the subtle shift in volume that indicated directionality, but a great many things had changed in those years.

"I will need Iris." Reina was directly in front of Ignis, but not close enough to touch.

A pause.

Ignis said nothing, in spite of how much he wanted to object. He would stand beside her or behind her no matter how often she pushed him away . Perhaps she would need him, eventually. Perhaps she wouldn't. But he would be there, regardless.

"Your Highness, I do not think—"

Reina cut Cor off before he could finish. "The crystal is back in Insomnia."

Another pause. Ignis' brow furrowed; was that somehow related to Caem's pending daemon infestation, or was it a sudden realization that she had voiced as soon as it came to her? The latter wasn't much in keeping with Reina's character. From the sound of things, she knew a great deal that she hadn't shared with them; she kept her secrets well.

"Can you use it…?" Cor asked at length.

But of course. The crystal was the source of the ring's power—of Reina's power. Did proximity affect that power? It must have, in some way; the crystal's presence had been necessary to maintain the Wall.

"Perhaps." Reina was moving toward the door.

"Reina—" Ignis stepped forward. Her footsteps halted. "Where would you have me?"

"Come if you wish," she said.

So he did.

* * *

Mid-sentence and without even saying goodbye to him. How terribly rude. Not that he couldn't track her down again—she always had one foot in the In-Between, much like himself—but it was still rather exasperating, wasn't it?

It took little more than a thought to plant words in her mind—the realm may have been non-physical, but if she was present, even in part, he could speak and make himself heard. He left her with that tantalizing clue and waited in a room that didn't exist in a place that wasn't real. Most things were waiting. Minutes were nothing compared to millenia.

" _The crystal?"_

Ardyn smiled, though no one was around to appreciate it but himself.

 _Very good, little Dreamer. So you_ can  _feel it._

" _I feel… something. Through the ring."_

_Of course. That is where the power comes from, after all. Now. Wouldn't you like… to try it out?_

He hadn't fetched the crystal all the way back from Niflheim for charity, after all. Not that it had been any particular challenge to deliver it to Insomnia, but  _still_. He was expecting fair recompense for his mediocre efforts. After all, with the ring and the crystal in the control of his little…  _ally_ … it was beneficial to make things as easy as possible for the two of them.

" _What do you mean?"_

Now if only he could get her to embrace the power and stop trying to be Daddy's little girl. For all she claimed to want to break the rules, she didn't even know what that meant, yet.

 _The crystal imparts power to the ring. This takes time, however—thus the reason why Brother-dear cannot kill me, yet. The power is still_ there _, though. You can draw from it, if you try. Your father did for his whole life._

" _What can I do with it?"_

So he coaxed and he nudged and he pushed. Eventually it would pay off, of that he had no doubt. For all he had cooked up this whole 'we're really the same' tactic just for her, he couldn't help but see some of the truth behind it.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression—hadn't he done the same?

 _Whatever are you asking_ me  _for? Go find out, yourself, little Dreamer. The world is in your hands; you might as well play around._

She didn't respond, this time, either because matters in the real world demanded her attention or because she was still considering. If he focused, he could probably have pinpointed her and seen which, but it didn't matter enough to try.

_And one more thing, little Dreamer: I do know how much you enjoy your little pointy stick, and I appreciate sentimentality as much as the next ancient, corrupted, immortal—which is to say, not at all—but you really could use an upgrade to your armory._

He let her consider that in silence for a few moments, as well. Let it sink in. Let her mull it over. Then he prodded.

_Why haven't you taken them, yet? You made nice with all the little kings; you might as well take full advantage of that… or is tradition still holding you back?_

Ardyn leaned back on the throne that he wasn't really sitting on. He counted the seconds and chose his words. And he did look in on her, this time, following the trail she left and poking around in her head so he could feel her reactions

_Just one more thing that is only for Noctis…?_

_Just one more thing you were never_ supposed  _to do…?_

He felt more than saw the tension that ran through her body in response. That was what he was looking for.

_That's what I thought. You'll go get them, won't you?_

" _Yes_."

Of course she would. She had talked her way through a hundred generations of monarchs, mastered arcana and elemancy, weaponized her own ability to slip seamlessly between realms and through time, and become a hub of adoration and loyalty for the unwashed masses. Now she would wield the Armiger, as well. And after that…

Well…

After that they would play the waiting game. He had already planted the seeds and watched them take root. He could practically  _taste_ the hatred coming off her in waves when she thought of the Astrals. While the strength of the ring grew over the years, he would nurture that hatred. When it was finally ripe for the picking, the ring would have reached its full power.

A power that surpassed even that of the Gods.

"Oh, yes, little Dreamer. We will have our way, in the end, won't we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted an additional update, today: chapter 19 now answers the frequently asked question of "wtf ever happened to Prompto and Gladio?"


	46. Protector

__

######  _27 August, 759:_

They said the bond between king and Shield was more than that of a simple bodyguard and his liege, that the Shield was to stand beside his king in light and dark, to share the burden of rule, to be a comrade and a brother.

Iris had mused on those words a great deal in the past two months. Most of the Lucian monarchs were kings, the Shields almost unanimously men—so far as their history was written. No one wrote much about the queens of Lucis, save for the Rogue. And no one had any advice for a not-quite Shield of a not-quite queen in this in-between time when everything was falling apart and people were pulling away when they should have been coming together.

All her life she had watched Gladio training to be Noctis' Shield. She had seen their friendship and envied it. She had a brother in Gladdy, too, of course, but she had never had a sister. Not until Reina.

She still thought back on the vows she had taken to become Reina's Shield; they were just like what Gladdy talked about, what Dad had talked about: a Shield had to stand strong beside his king and never falter, no matter what they faced together. She would have done that. She  _wanted_ to do that. And for one shining year, she thought she would.

...but then something happened and now no one could reach Reina, anymore.

Iris knew her job was to stand by Reina—to reach inside and connect with her even when the rest of the world couldn't or wouldn't. But no one talked about what the Shield was supposed to do when her queen wouldn't share the burden of the kingdom. No one talked about queens who didn't seem to  _want_ a sister, anymore.

If they had been any other people in the world, it would have been easy to become disenchanted; after all, if her queen didn't want a sister, why was Iris still trying? But that wasn't them. Iris had always watched from afar, admiring. And Reina was  _so_ awesome.

People used that word to mean everything from 'alright' to 'cool'. Iris did, too, but that wasn't like this. Reina, in the most literal sense, filled her with awe, now more than ever.

It was dark when they pulled into Caem. A few lanterns burned up toward the top of the hill, flickering orange lights amidst a sea of black. The night crawled—it always did, when they travelled too far from the light—and not just with daemons, either. The air itself seemed to be alive, buzzing and hovering. Suffocating. Reina said that was the Starscourge. Iris tried not to think about it, because it made her want to stop breathing. She needed to breathe.

"Come," was the only thing Reina said before she disappeared in a streak of blue, leaving Iris and Ignis to follow in her wake.

Why had she even brought them? Doubtless she could have done this by herself and, while Iris wanted to be wanted, she preferred to be left behind if she was only there for charity.

Ignis didn't hesitate to follow, so Iris dropped in beside him. She didn't draw her blade—running with a katana tended to be a bad idea—but she kept an eye on their surroundings as Reina cleared the path ahead. By the time they reached the lighthouse, the only daemons they had encountered were the ones that were lying motionless on the ground, smoldering with blue fire.

At the top they met a handful of Glaives—whoever had been present when the power went out—and Weskham.

"Sure am glad to see you, little princess." Weskham always had that way of making even dire situations sound minor. He also persisted in calling Rei 'little princess', in spite of the fact that she was looking more like one of the ghostly Lucii with every passing day.

Reina turned glowing eyes on him, the blue cracks in her skin still fading. "Is everyone inside?"

"They are. What are you planning?"

She didn't respond, except to say, "Keep the perimeter clear."

Then she turned around, looking to Iris and Ignis. "I will need your shield. I expect this will take all of my focus and if I am distracted it will fail."

Reina didn't tell them what 'it' was, but Iris elected not to ask. Likely she wouldn't get an answer, anyway. She just hoped it didn't involve opening up the sky again.

"You got it." Iris drew her her sword.

"Of course." Beside her, Ignis drew his daggers; his cane vanished when he released it.

Iris had thought she was more or less accustomed to Reina's new way of working—enough, at least, that she was no longer distracted in the midst of battle. But it seemed Reina had more surprises, still. For once, Iris envied Ignis' blindness. At least if he couldn't see he wouldn't want to watch.

Reina stepped forward, taking up a position a few yards from the base of the lighthouse. She stretched out her hand and the Ring of the Lucii glowed, as it often seemed to, now. Then the air itself began to glow, starting from a spot well overhead, above even the top of the lighthouse. It whispered and shimmered, creeping down like frost crawling down a pane of glass, only there was no surface for it to form on. Or, at least, there  _hadn't_ been a surface before.

The daemons were inching forward from the surrounding dark. The lanterns at the lighthouse wouldn't keep them at bay. Iris moved in front of Reina, watching the closest ones. She didn't dare move out to head them off—the Glaives could keep the others away, but Iris needed to remain close to Reina if she was going to be of any use.

Iris hazarded a glance upward. It was hard to make sense of something she had never witnessed before, or even thought was  _possible_ before, but her mind put together the pieces, bit by bit.

The creeping frost-like magic wasn't moving across a surface. It  _was_ the surface. A barrier, spreading from a single point and arcing down in a dome toward the earth.

A daemon leapt from the darkness—a spindly beast with useless wings and long talon-like fingers. Iris took half a step, planting her foot and swinging with both hands and all her weight behind her katana. The blade sliced clean through it's abdomen. That one fell, dissolving into a black mist, but others soon took its place. The floodgates had opened. Iris had no more time to spare thoughts for Reina and her barrier—all that mattered was keeping her safe.

Daemons closed in, as if they had been just beyond the glow of the lanterns, waiting for the first one to strike. Iris didn't think, she just responded. Years of training and more practical experience than she cared to count took over. She dropped into a defensive stance, watching five different targets at once. When the first one was within range she swung her blade down and around one-handed, catching it from below and cutting through the bottom of its skull. She shifted her weight, putting both hands on the hilt and pushing her blade down, though the collarbone of another daemon. Her katana caught on bone and she jerked it free, pushing forward and back sharply enough to dislodge the daemon. Another came up from her right, just visible from the corner of her eye; this one she caught with an overhand swing, halting it in its tracks.

A lull formed between groups. Iris hazarded a glance over her shoulder at Reina, who was standing exactly as she had been before—by now the cracks were spreading over her whole body, but the expression on her face was still solemn concentration. Behind Reina, Ignis stood with both daggers out, guarding her back. Above, the barrier was still growing, now a quarter of the way to the ground.

That was the end of the lull.

Iris turned toward a daemon as it leapt, swinging from her hip up and across. These ones were small fry. They went down, one after another, with very little effort, leaving her to turn her attention to the next one. If their bodies hadn't disintegrated after death—if it could be called death—then Iris would have been making a small pile.

While the little ones swarmed in every direction, Iris  _did_ spot some more substantial foes mixed among them. She didn't seek them out. Either they would come to her or the Glaives would deal with them, but she wasn't leaving Reina. Still, it was curious. Not so long ago, the daemons had attacked with precision and—it seemed—with intelligence, as if they had an assault plan. Altissia had been like that, as had Caem, that first time. They had even held formations of a sort, with larger daemons working together to increase their threat. In spite of how successful that had been, now they were always haphazard, as if they had forgotten what to do or how to do it. Or as if they had never known at all and had only been told…

Back at Reina's side, Iris glanced up; the barrier was halfway formed, now, but Reina's look of stoic calm was dissolving. Her teeth were bared in a grimace, her brow twisted and furrowed. Her outstretched hand was slowly clenching into a fist and all up her arm, her muscles bunched with tension. Iris had never really considered, before, that it must have hurt to have so much magic under her skin, but of course it did. The power of the ring didn't come cheap.

Iris turned; the little ones were back, swarming around them but keeping just out of range of her katana. Perhaps they meant to draw her out among them. Perhaps they were just responding to some sort of base emotion of fear. Regardless, She didn't rise to the bait. Let them come; she would stand her ground.

Eventually their ranks broke. One dove in, then another, then a third. Iris cut them down systematically: strike down with her hand on the back of the blade, pull back, lunge, twist, withdraw, and then swing, one-handed, through the third. So it went, a little like a dance where the partners were trying to kill each other. Luckily, only one of them was succeeding.

The barrier stretched toward the ground. Three-quarters finished and still growing. The cracks in Reina's skin had deepened. Even between the cracks, her skin seemed to turn ashen and flakey, as if burned.

_Don't you dare kill yourself for this, Rei_. Iris clenched her teeth and turned back around. She just needed to hold that position until the barrier was complete, much as she wanted to stop it now. That wasn't her choice to make.

The flow of daemons lulled once more. Iris didn't move, but her eyes flicked back and forth across the dark before her. The barrier was now within her range of vision without even looking up. Either the light or the magic made the daemons think twice about mounting another attack. They lingered a few feet away, some of them hesitating as they looked up at the encroaching shield. A few of the more bold darted forward and made it under the barrier before it reached the ground. Any within range of Iris' blade didn't make it that far.

When Reina's magic hit the earth, the circle around them glowed blue-white for a moment, as if completing the shield. Then the light faded, leaving only a solid hemisphere of what appeared to be frosted glass.

Iris reached out to touch it; it was warm to the touch, smooth, but solid.

"Whoa."

She turned in time to watch the light fade from the Ring of the Lucii—and from Reina. As soon as it was gone, Reina lurched forward gasping as if she had been submerged in water for the duration.

"Rei!" Iris dropped her katana and lunged to catch Reina's shoulders instead.

Her skin was  _hot_. Not just warm, like people were supposed to be, but hot like a mug of tea. Iris almost let go out of surprise, but Reina was already leaning forward, relying on that support to keep her upright. The glowing cracks had faded, but pale lines ran across her skin where they had been before. She lifted her hands to clutch Iris' arms and her limbs quivered from just that motion.

"Reina?" Ignis hovered behind. Even without seeing, he knew something wasn't right.

"I'm fine," Reina said, in spite of the fact that she would have fallen on her face if Iris had stepped away. "Is everyone safe?"

"Uh…" Iris pulled her eyes away from Reina and glanced around the shielded area. The Glaives were finishing off the handful of daemons that were still inside, but it looked like everyone was still standing. "Yeah, everyone's alright."

"That's one hell of a barrier, Your Highness." Weskham had come over after checking in with the Caem Glaives.

"It will keep them out until the power returns." Reina shifted her weight, perhaps trying to find some way to stand that wouldn't need Iris' support. It didn't work.

Ignis stepped forward, finding the barrier and running his fingers over the surface. "Will it keep us in?"

"No. I can let us through." Reina made another valiant effort to stand up straight, then fixed Iris with a look of resignation. "Let us go."

Iris ducked under her arm without being told. Reina was a few inches shorter—which was still peculiar after all these years—but Iris managed by bending her knees a little and wrapping her arm around Reina's waist.

"Your Highness—" Weskham hesitated. Iris noted that he had stopped calling her 'little princess' after what they had just seen. "Is there any rush? You're welcome to stay here and rest."

Reina gave a bitter laugh. She shook her head.

"I understand," she said, though it didn't seem to be directed to any of them. She did that, sometimes—talked to people who weren't really there. Not that Iris or anyone else could see, anyway, but the Caelums could see more, couldn't they?

When next she spoke, however, it was in direct response to Weskham. "No. There are things I must do; the magic will hold without me here."

"...Very well, Your Highness," said Weskham.

Reina took a step, forcing Iris to do the same or let her fall. When they reached Ignis at the barrier he stepped aside, though he reached out and brushed his fingers down Reina's free arm. The barrier opened for them at a gesture from Reina; a little hole expanded into a big one until all three of them could step through and out, then closed behind them as if it had never been there in the first place.

"The daemons?" Ignis asked.

"All yours." Iris resettled her hold on Reina.

"I can deal with them," Reina said.

"Don't you dare." Iris shot her a sideways glare. In the distant glow of lantern light, Iris could just see that the lines in Rei's skin were fading, but it had taken much longer than usual, this time.

Reina met her gaze with that quiet impassive stare and, for a moment, Iris thought Rei might put her in her place. Reina did that to people who challenged her. It was why Iris did her best  _not_ to cross her. She should have just kept her mouth shut, probably.

But Reina didn't chastise her. She just sighed and shook her head again. "Like father, like daughter."

At first Iris thought she was speaking of herself. It was an apt comparison in so many ways; everyone agreed that Reina was, without any doubt, King Regis' daughter.

It wasn't until they reached the car that Iris realized Reina had been talking about  _her_.

She paused, halfway into her seat behind the wheel, after dropping Reina off in the back.

That was what Dad had meant.

"If the king is so strong," Iris had asked, just eight years old and wishing her dad was around more often than not, "Why does he need someone to protect him?"

"The king protects all of Lucis." It wasn't the first time he had explained it to her, but he did it again, patiently, sitting down beside her and taking her hands in his. "He protects hundreds of thousands of people everyday, making their homes livable. Often, that forces him to make a choice; a choice between choosing to keep himself safe… or choosing to keep his people safe. It is the king's job—his burden, his  _responsibility_ —to choose the latter, time and time again. And so the former falls to me."

"But he doesn't ever go outside… how come he isn't safe inside the Citadel?"

He had smiled and squeezed her hands. "Not every threat comes from outside."

It hadn't meant anything to her at the time, but she tried to pretend like she understood, anyway, because he had a look on his face like it was important that she  _did_ understand.

Ten years later, she did.

Dad wasn't protecting King Regis from monsters or daemons. He was protecting the king from himself, because without someone standing next to him, giving him the occasional nudge and telling him to  _stop_ … he would have kept on giving until there was nothing left  _to_  give.

And that…

That was Iris' job, now.


	47. Where the Heart Is

__

######  _30 August - 15 September, 759:_

Reina turned twenty-four that summer; she didn't celebrate but to claim the first of the royal arms and lift it in defiance of the Astrals. This was  _her_ birthright. This was  _her_ power. And no one else, on Eos or otherwise, had the right to determine whether or not she was  _supposed_ to bear it.

In what remained of August and bleeding into September, Reina built up her arsenal. Strictly speaking, it wasn't necessary to visit the royal tombs; even if the weapons had been physically present—and some of them were—they weren't what made up the spectral glaives of the Armiger. For Noctis it had been necessary—he hadn't worn the ring until after his Armiger was complete, and so it was the only way for him to reach the kings of old. But Reina wore the ring and she knew the Lucii: they spoke in her ears and hovered in her mind.

Still, they were a little bit closer to the physical realm inside their tombs. It was easier to form the bond in those places—as simple as reaching out and taking an outstretched hand. But for those that were out of her reach—the Mystic's tomb had collapsed into the disc, the Oracle's had long since been lost, and her father had none, though he had a blade to lend her—she could still reach them. She could still use them.

Father's completed her set. He granted it to her with a smile that said he was proud of her and a kiss on her forehead.

And a "Go forth, my dearest. Protect our people through the long night."

Thirteen spectral weapons—beautiful when they danced around her in sapphire lights. She had told herself she wasn't envious of Noctis, all those years ago, when they first hunted down the tombs. But she should have been.

Now she bore the ring and all its power, against the will of the Astrals.

Now she wielded the blades of her ancestors—a birthright reserved for the monarch or his heir, of which she was neither.

Now she embraced the Dreams she had once fled from, though the Astrals had never meant for her to have them at all.

Only one thing remained.

Ardyn had been accommodating enough to bring it home from Niflheim for her.

It meant returning to Insomnia, which she put off doing for weeks. She told herself it was because she could give no explanation to the others, because she would need some convenient excuse to slip off to the city and, besides, it was difficult to disappear unnoticed when she was regent. But she was only stalling.

What would she find there, in the skeleton of her once-home? What nightmares waited for her in the ruins? She wasn't certain she wanted to know, but she couldn't put it off forever.

She left from Hammerhead—the establishment of a new headquarters for the hunters made for an convenient excuse—and struck out toward the city.

Insomnia.

She had dreamed of coming home since the day she had left. Now she stood at the shattered gate looking in.

It was nothing like how she remembered.

It was broken. It was empty. It was darkness and it was death. It was all the things it hadn't been and nothing that it had. Buildings had toppled, glass was shattered, metal—once gleaming—lay in rusted snarls. The statue of the Rogue was missing an arm.

And all the light was gone.

The beam that had once shot up from the Citadel and projected a magical barrier over the entire city was no more.

_I always hated it, anyway_.

The Wall had always been just a drain on her father's life, in her mind. Of course it had protected the people. But at what cost?

Reina walked down the crumbling street, stepping over rubble. The only signs of life—the only things moving—were daemons. How many had once been Insomnians? How many had been her people, transformed into mindless beasts by the scourge?

The swarmed her—or they would have. She Dreamed; she watched their shadows, like reality laid on top of reality, and she stepped away and in between. Each swipe of a claw, each snap of a jaw missed her. She continued on, heedless, at a steady pace. More joined—the city was crawling with them—but Reina only stopped when their numbers actively impeded her progress. Even then, it was more of an annoyance than anything else. Lightning arced from her fingertips. It leapt from daemon to daemon, leaving charred remains in its wake.

And she walked on.

The Citadel was visible from every corner of Insomnia. Even if she hadn't known each twist and turn of the street, she would have had little trouble making her way to the capitol.

Along her way, she passed places she had once known:

Here was the Stardust where she used to get coffee with her friends back in high school. Here was the restaurant that Noctis had worked at part-time. Here was the arcade he had always disappeared to. Here was their favorite sushi place—for nights when Cup Noodles wouldn't suffice. Here was where Noctis had lived.

Every one of them was crumbling and ruined. The top half of Noctis' apartment building was missing; his apartment itself was now so much stone and glass in the alley behind. All the people, all the lights, all the  _life_  was gone. It wasn't home at all.

Still, Reina walked on. She cut down daemons or rogue MTs when they became too annoying or cumbersome, but otherwise she merely took care not to walk where they struck.

At last she reached it. The Citadel—all three towers shooting so high into the air that she had to crane her neck to see the top. At the base, the stairs swept down into the drive.

This was the last place she had seen her father alive.

Reina clutched the ring to her chest and pressed on. She had gotten no farther than the bottom of the steps when a familiar voice greeted her—not from the Citadel, per say, but from the air around it.

"Ah, Princess. Welcome home, little Dreamer. I admit to being a  _little bit_ disappointed that it took you so long. I've been waiting." In a swirl of miasma, Ardyn materialized at the top of the steps.

"I know." Reina didn't stop moving. If she did, she was afraid she would lose her nerve.

_Father is still with me,_ she reminded herself.

Ardyn tsked. "You have no idea how frustrating it is to never be able to surprise you."

She didn't bother to dignify him with a response. She was at the top of the steps, now. Had it really been so long ago, that Father had followed them out with Drautos trailing behind him?  _Drautos_. If she had only known at the time…

She passed Ardyn, sparing him only a glance. Distantly, she realized this was the first time she had actually seen him in person since the day she had lost her hold on the present. It didn't seem as if it had been so long—the number of times she had spoken to him, in Dreams or otherwise, since then were beyond counting. So much had changed. Now she knew he wasn't going to try to kill her. Not today. Even if he had wanted to, she would have seen it coming. He turned, watching her go, and fell into step beside her.

"And here I thought you understood me," he said.

Reina paused, glancing up at him with half a smile. "I do."

Ardyn leaned closer, putting them eye to eye. "We want the same things, you and I."

"Some of them," she agreed.

"Oh, come now, there's no need to be modest—you're among friends. Friend." Ardyn straightened, putting on his best smirk before a look of dismay crossed his face. "But where are my manners? Your first trip to Insomnia since the remodeling! Would you like a tour? Oh, no, but of course—you already know everything."

Her smile faded as her eyes swept the entry hall. A part of her expected to see him standing there.

_Stupid_.

"No. This  _is_ my first visit." She hadn't Dreamed Insomnia. Not beyond the throne room and her visits with Ardyn. She hadn't wanted to see it like this. But she needed to.

"Well, then, allow me to show you around." He swept inside, turning and walking backward to speak to her as he spread his hands. "I've done some rearranging of my own. You may find home not  _quite_ as you remember. The crystal, of course—"

"Ardyn."

He paused.

"Where is his body?"

Ardyn's hands dropped to his sides. He raised one eyebrow, then grinned—that dark, twisted grin that had grown so familiar to her, by now. "I chained him up and hung him in the throne room. Would you like to see?"

Reina shook her head. "He's bones by now. There's nothing to chain."

Ardyn tsked again. "You  _are_ no fun. I hope they leave you behind when Brother-dear comes to kill me. You'll ruin everything."

She almost smiled. She had little doubt that, had she followed him to the throne room, she  _would_ have found her father's body there. But Ardyn was nothing if not full of tricks. He had the power to make others see what  _he_ wanted.

"Where is he?" She asked again.

Ardyn motioned silently, face suddenly impassive, and led Reina down the hall.

Parts of the Citadel were in ruins. Whole hallways had been closed off by fallen masonry, but the path they walked was relatively unharmed. Still, it was like walking through a ghost. It wasn't the Citadel she remembered—it was more like a nightmare. And, indeed, as she followed Ardyn, she began to recognize the space from her Dreams of that night.

The treaty room was all but destroyed. This was ground zero. The shattered remains of chairs were piled up on either side of the room. On the far end was an upturned table and two high-backed chairs—tattered and torn. The ground was littered with glass… and bones. The air reeked of death.

Ardyn swept through, unconcerned with any of this, to the open wall in the back. Reina followed, then paused, her eyes catching on a pile of bones on the floor against the wall and the remains of council robes.

"Clarus…"

How many times had she watched Drautos pin him to the wall with his own blade, heard him breath his last breath as her father cried out? He had come off the wall, it seemed.

"As dead as the rest." Ardyn glanced over his shoulder at her, then stepped into the open shaft at the back of the room, dropping below.

Reina shut her eyes and turned away. Dwelling on the death, now, did her no good. It was long past the time when she could have done anything to prevent it. She followed Ardyn, looking down into the dark elevator shaft. The lift itself was at the bottom, dented and broken, with Ardyn standing inside looking up at her.

She clenched her teeth and leapt for the cable. She caught it, digging her boots into the textured sides and, once she was secure, letting it slide through her gloved hands. Even with the gloves she could feel the heat of friction. That, however, was preferable to the several-story drop.

Her boots hit the ground. She shook her hands out, wincing and looking at the damage to her gloves. No matter. They were replaceable.

Outside the elevator was the room.

_That_  room. The one she had walked in more times in her Dreams than ever while she was awake. She had only been there once, before. But after? Hundreds of nights had brought her here.

Ardyn stood off to one side, watching her as she entered. She didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the floor in the center of the room.

He lay right where he had fallen—exactly as she had seen so many times—face down. On the far side of the room was his cane, cast aside in his final moments, and just beside him, face up on the stone floor, was his phone.

Reina dropped to her knees in the dust. She extended her hand to touch his back, then stopped herself. He was just so many bones, now, held together more or less by his rotting clothes. Her eyes burned.

_It doesn't matter. He's with me, now. The real him. This is just a shell._

To her right, Ardyn echoed her thoughts, as if he could hear them. "Why do you care about a corpse? You have something far more important."

She ran her fingers over the ring. He was right, of course; she carried her father's soul with her and  _that_ was what he was. Not his body. She pursed her lips and looked up at Ardyn.

"It reminds me of what once was… and what never will be again."

He considered her for a moment, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Then he shrugged and turned away. "You'll get used to it."

"Familiarity does not imply contentment."

Ardyn stopped, halfway to the exit in the back of the room. He was silent a moment, then: "And full well I know it."

He led her back up to the Citadel, the long way around. They walked in silence, but it wasn't as tense as it should have been. It wasn't the thick, ringing silence of a hero forced to engage with a villain. It was the comfortable silence of two people who understood, two people who had no need for words, two people who had found themselves walking together in spite of standing on opposite sides. What did sides really matter, when the world was crumbling, anyway? Ardyn hadn't caused that. Not really. The Astrals had. He was a product of his circumstances, but they were the ones who had made him that way.

This time she let him take her to the throne room. She knew what she would find before they set foot inside; Ardyn faded from her side and left her walking up the length of the hall on her own while he sat on her father's throne above. She had seen him there too many times to be bothered—perhaps he wanted her to be, but he would have to wait for Noctis instead. She had also expected the bodies. Iedolas, Father, Luna, Nyx… Reina's eyes flicked over them before settling on Ardyn. And there, chained and hanging above the throne, was the crystal.

"Well? What do you think?" Ardyn leaned forward in the throne.

"Why the emperor?" She considered his corpse with distaste. He hadn't died looking like that. She knew because she had cut his stomach open herself.

"To  _provoke an emotional reaction_! Come, now, little Dreamer, surely you can appreciate that. After all, it was he who made a mess of your home."

Reina sighed. " _You_  made a mess of my home, Ardyn."

"Well." He smiled unpleasantly. "I helped."

He had done more than help, she suspected. The emperor hadn't spontaneously become obsessed with the crystal and the ring—convinced that he, himself, was the Chosen King. But Reina found it difficult to care. Even without Ardyn, it seemed likely that Niflheim would have waged war on Lucis, causing a need for the Wall, sapping her father's life. And now Father was dead, anyway. Neither Ardyn nor the emperor had done that.

She climbed the steps toward the throne. Ardyn didn't move an inch. When she stopped before him—up on a level with the throne—her eyes fixed on the crystal.

"Are you going to take the crystal for yourself, little Dreamer?" Ardyn's voice was but a whisper.

"I don't want it," she said. What would she do with it if she had it? Resurrect the Wall and seal Ardyn up in Insomnia? He didn't want to leave, anyway. There was little else she could do with it; she doubted very much that it would even respond to her.

"And yet, you came anyway."

"My brother is in there…"

Ardyn tsked. "You're being simple, again, little Dreamer. You think your brother is  _inside_ the crystal? Of course he isn't. He's in the Heart, and having the crystal won't help you reach him."

"Why did they take him?" She asked, not expecting an answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the crystal. She might have asked Bahamut the same question, but something told her he would be no more forthcoming than Ardyn. "What was special about Noctis?"

" _Special_ about him?" Ardyn repeated. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he leaned forward in the throne. "You still believe there was anything at all that made him more worthy than you? Think again, little Dreamer. The Gods play dice with your world."

Her stomach twisted at his words. Once, her first thought would have been disbelief. He was only trying to stir discontent in her. But he wasn't, was he?

"It could have been me…" she said.

Ardyn only smiled.

"It should have been me."

Everything she had ever wanted had been given to Noctis on account of that one choice. Father's love. Father's attention. Purpose. A throne she would never be forced to sit on—at least not for long. A mess that wasn't her to fix.

And death.

"It should have been you." Ardyn, eyes fixed upon her face, reached out to flick a lock of hair from her face. His fingers brushed her cheek when he did so.

"But they'll give him the power, and there's nothing I can do about that." She stared, still, at the crystal.

Ardyn tsked and dropped his hand back to the arm of his throne. "Don't be naive. The crystal's power is in the ring. The Caelum power is in his blood."

"Then why lock him in the Heart?" Reina's brow furrowed.

"To keep him safe until the ring is replete. It just wouldn't do if yours truly killed him early, now would it?"

The cold rage in the pit of her stomach began to simmer. "They locked him away for  _ten years_ , just to keep him safe?"

His smiled deepend. "What does that say about how much they care for  _you?_ "

He laughed at the look on her face, then waved a hand toward the crystal."Go on, then. I know what you want.  _Do it_. You won't learn anything you don't already know."

Her eyes fixed back on the crystal. It was a portal, of sorts—a doorway to the Heart of Eos, but not one that most people could traverse. More than that, though, it was a conduit. It was a connection to the Astrals. Though by now most of their physical incarnations had left the world, they still existed; they still observed.

Reina threw out her hand, extending her fingers toward the crystal. The ring flared with light; a pulsing glow woke deep in the heart of the geode, but it didn't shine so brightly as it had when Noctis had done the same thing. It was awake, but not as strong as it had been, back then. Slowly, month by month, year by year, it was giving its power to the ring. When it was complete, by the time Noctis returned, all of that raw, unbridled power would be tamed and useable by him. As the Astrals intended.

Connection with the crystal opened a new link inside her—or perhaps it had been there all along and she just hadn't noticed, until now.

_:Why dost thou call?:_

Bahamut's voice echoed in her mind, deep like gravel and reverberating inside her skull until her teeth hurt.

_To change my fate._

_:Thou knowest already—thy fate is set in stone.:_

_I cannot accept that. I_ will  _change it._

_:Thou fightest against the heart of this star; the crystal hath chosen thy brother, to deny this is folly.:_

Reina shook her head. Would it make any difference to hear the words from Bahamut? She already knew Ardyn was right. He had led her astray less than they had.

_The power of the Caelums is distilled through the centuries, each generation growing stronger and wiser than the last as more power drains from the crystal to the ring. There was never anything special about Noctis that made him the correct choice, was there? It was our_ time— _our_ generation  _that was right… and you flipped just a coin and chose a twin, didn't you? Well you chose_ wrong.

_:Save thy words, human. Give thanks that this fate is his rather than thine.:_

Bahamut's words all but confirmed Ardyn's. She clenched her fists and ground her teeth together, knowing full well that Ardyn was watching her; she didn't care.

_Be thankful?_ Thankful?  _Thankful that for nineteen years, Noctis has gotten everything that I wanted? Thankful that he was father's favorite because of his fate? Thankful that he was coddled while I was not? Thankful that, when this is all over, he gets to embrace forever-sleep, while I am left picking up the pieces of a broken world?_

_:Thou hast been granted life. What more wouldst thou have?:_

_For being all powerful… you really are very stupid._

Life? That was what he offered her? As if they believed this would pay the debt owed to the generations of Caelums who had given their own lives—the lives of their siblings and children, the lives of their people—in service of the Astrals?

_Life is not what humans crave. Life unending? Life without bounds? Life for us and our futures? No. We crave_  love,  _you_  fucking imbecile!  _For two thousand years you have robbed generation after generation of Caelums. We've given our lives, we've given our loves, we've given_ everything  _for your_ damn  _future! A future we will never see._

_We give everything for the greater good. And in return… you have given us absolutely nothing. Two thousand years of Caelums. Hundreds of deaths—and you know what? Every one of them was happy, in some small way, to_ finally  _go. They didn't care about their lives when you finally took those from them, because for the whole fifty-odd years each one lived, you took_ everything  _from them until there was nothing left to live for. You're still fucking doing it! You grant me my_ life _, and expect me to throw myself down on hands and knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? I'd rather kiss Drautos._

_You don't even seem to realize that this is your own fault! This is_ all  _your fault—what you did to Ardyn was cruel and unnecessary. We could have avoided so much pain in this world if you hadn't been so focused on the black and white—light versus dark, good versus evil, the preservation of some_ damn  _future. Your future means nothing to me! And I will_ not  _partake in this half-assed consolation prize._

_I'd rather die._

The anger stretched her face until she was wearing a snarl. If she had been speaking, she would have long since lost volume control and began shouting.

_:Thinkest thou that more is deserved? Thy ancestors hast been granted the power of the crystal and the ring thou wearest is recompense for service.:_

Never had she wanted so much to stab a Astral in the eye. Had he even bothered to listen to a single word she said? Or was she just some ant to him—screaming into the void?

_You think that was a_ reward _? By all that is holy—I know children who are less_ stupid!  _A king fought against the scourge—against a plague of_ your own making— _and you rewarded him by conscripting not just him, not just his son, but his son's son and every child thereafter for two thousand years to give up everything, and mop up your own_ fucking mess _. You cannot give an honorable man power and insist that is a reward. For every Caelum it was a shackle. Responsibility is not recompense._

Reina dropped her hand. She served the connection, not wanting to hear whatever ridiculous response Bahamut had for her. Ardyn was right. She hadn't learned anything she hadn't already known. A part of her had been hoping… but no matter.

Ardyn was sitting on the throne, his hands folded in his lap, smiling placidly up at her.

"Niflheim was right to destroy them. This world is better in their absence." Reina turned on her heel and descended the steps.

Behind her, Ardyn's smile stretched and darkened.


	48. In Mixed Company

__

######  _15 September, 759:_

"What do you  _mean_ she went on her own?!" It wasn't often that Cor completely lost volume control. But being told that Reina had just walked into the condemned city—the one that was populated entirely by daemons, rogue MTs, and, if reports were to be believed, Ardyn—was enough to break even his considerable self-control.

"I mean  _she went to Insomnia on her own._ " Iris folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him. "And told me not to follow her."

"And you listened?"

"Well I'm not going to charge in there by myself! That's why I'm here."

That was… a fair point. As competent as Iris had become, she wasn't a match for the whole city by herself. Reina might well have been, but that wasn't the point.

"Let's go," Cor said.

"Ignis will want to come, too."

"Then tell him to hurry up. The car will be running when you get there."

It wasn't only Ignis who wanted to come along, it seemed. When Iris arrived at the truck, Ignis, Gladiolus, and Prompto all trailed after her. Cor didn't object. A few extra arms would be welcome and they didn't have time for an argument. He just threw the truck into gear and hit the gas before everyone was even settled.

From Hammerhead, Insomnia was an hour drive. It would have been five from Lestallum, but of course she had waited until they were on the other side of Lucis, fortifying the hunter outpost. How long had she been planning this? And why hadn't he thought it was strange that she wanted to go to Hammerhead in the first place? She had expressed little enough interest in the establishment of hunter outposts before this point.

Stupid, stupid,  _stupid_.

"She can take care of herself." Gladio had taken the front seat. It wasn't immediately clear exactly who he was assuring. Probably himself.

Regardless, Gladio was right. In the past months, Cor had seen more magic—and more impressive magic—from Reina than he had ever seen from Regis. This was due, in part, to the situation. The rest of it was likely because she didn't have the strain of the Wall. But, watching her wield the ring alongside the Armiger, it was hard to believe that just a couple years ago she had been stubbornly insistent that she would never have either.

"Even the regent needs backup, sometimes. If only to drag her out when she gets in too deep," Cor said.

Maybe she could have taken on the whole city herself, daemons, MTs, and all. But she wouldn't have been able to walk when it was over. It wasn't worth it, anyway. There would always be more daemons.

The bridge into the city was surprisingly intact. Cor hadn't been across it since The Fall; it didn't look any better for having been in imperial hands for a couple months. The outer gates, which had once been an anchor for the Wall and guarded at all hours, were thrown wide open. Beyond, the road was a mess. Cars, their tires melted to the pavement, sat abandoned at irregular intervals. Some were crushed by the rubble that obscured parts of the road. And then there were the daemons.

He stopped the truck in the middle of the road—they weren't getting any farther that way—and hit the ground running. No point waiting around for more of the bastards to come after them. The faster they moved the easier this would be.

Cor leapt up on top of a fallen column, which may once have been part of an overpass, and down the other side. He kept his hand on his hilt, but only drew as necessary. When the daemons closed in or when they blocked the path ahead, he cut through them. The others followed. Those boys had come a hell of a long way from their days training in the Crownsguard hall. Probably Iris had, too, but Cor saw her progress too regularly to be surprised.

They worked well together. Without it being spoken, everyone agreed it was better not to linger. When they could slip through unnoticed, they did so. When they had to draw steel, they tried to finish it off before more could arrive to join the fray. No one needed telling where they were headed. No one needed to guess where Reina would have gone.

The Citadel towered over Insomnia, visible from every corner. All they had to do was point in that direction and run as fast as their feet would take them. As it turned out, it was a little more well-guarded than the rest of the city.

Whereas daemons of various shapes and sizes were scattered across all of Insomnia, this beast appeared to just be  _waiting_ for them. Its head lifted as they approached— _heads_. It had three. And every one of them spat flames through teeth the size of Cor's sword.

"Holy  _shit_ —how the hell did Reina get through without killing this thing?" Gladio drew level with Cor, holding his sword at the ready.

"Speculate later—we have more important things to worry about, now," Cor said.

"Right."

That was the end of all conversation, because that was when the creature lunged in, forcing them to break apart or be caught between massive jaws. And so it began.

One head would have been bad enough. One head that dripped flames and four feet big enough to crush any of them. As it was, they were forced to watch all three targets. Cor circled around back—or he tried to, though it was harder when the thing had extra eyes to follow him. It snapped at him with one head, forcing him to drop and roll out of the way. He came up with his sword in hand, slicing across the back of its leg.

The foot went up. Cor watched it, backing out of range as it came crashing back down. The whole courtyard seemed to shake from the impact.

"Iris," Cor shouted, keeping one eye on the swiping tail as he searched for Iris. She was on the other side, darting in to land a blow and dancing back out of reach before it could return the favor. "Go ahead. We'll keep it busy."

"Right!" She gave him half a salute, dodging a pillar of fire as she made for the stairs.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." An unfamiliar voice split the air, somehow cutting through the chaos of battle. It took Cor a moment to realize that was because the three-headed daemon had stopped moving. "No  _cheating_. How inconsiderate; and after all the effort I went through to arrange this welcome for you."

Cor hazarded a glance at his surroundings as he backed away to make a line with the others. Iris was at the bottom of the stairs. The daemon stood between the rest of them and her. At the top was a burgundy-haired man in outlandish garb. They had never met, but Cor knew him by sight.

Ardyn Izunia. The once-chancellor of Niflheim, among other things. He held out his hand and a ball of black energy, laced with red, formed in his palm.

"Back in line, now." His voice had a sort of sing-song quality to it, even as he aimed that power at Iris. Was everything just a joke to him?

Iris backed away. She glanced up at the massive daemon, but it still wasn't moving. Almost as if it was waiting for orders. She managed to drop back, level with the rest of them.

Shit. Cor glanced about, half-formed plans swirling around in his mind. They couldn't face this…  _thing_ —he didn't even want to apply the word 'man' to him. If the stories were to be believed, Ardyn could crush them on a whim.

But they couldn't leave without Reina, either.

"What have you done with Her Majesty?" Cor asked.

"Oooh, 'Her Majesty,' is it? She won't like that, you know." He laughed, an unpleasant, oily laugh. "What did you ask? 'What have I  _done_ with her?'? I have corrupted her, of course. If you think she's still your queen, I have some unpleasant news…"

Lies. Reina hated Ardyn more than she hated even the Kingsglaive.

And then Reina appeared under the archway behind Ardyn, and with a few words made Cor doubt what Ardyn never could.

"Reina—!" Iris gave a cheer.

"You alright, Reina?" Gladio called.

"Ah, little Dreamer." Ardyn turned to look at her, smiling. "So glad you could join us. I was just having a pleasant chat with your little  _bodyguards_."

He said the last word as if it was laughable.

Reina glanced down the stairs at them only briefly before looking up at Ardyn.

"Call off your pet, Ardyn," she said, "I'm taking them with me."

She addressed him with casual disregard for any sort of danger to herself. The last time she had faced him, he had taunted her into a frenzied attack and she had lost control of her Dreams. Today she didn't even regard him as a threat. What the hell was going on?

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"If you kill them today, they won't be around to bring Noctis to you later. Besides, I thought you wanted this—" she waved toward the beast "—saved for a more  _special_ occasion?"

Ardyn stared at her for a long moment before heaving a dramatic sigh. "How ever am I to argue with you when you understand me so well?"

"I expect you'll find a way." Reina walked past him, toward the edge of the steps. She didn't pass around him in a circle, she didn't keep her eyes on him.

"I'll practice in my spare time." Ardyn turned, watching her pass and falling into step beside her. "Run along now, Dreamer  _dearest_. Until next time." He stopped at the edge of the stairs, sweeping his hat off and dropping into a bow.

She didn't respond. She just continued on down the stairs, not sparing another glance for him or his frozen pet, until she reached where Cor and the others were standing.

"Come," she said, "I have seen what I wanted to see."

Cor didn't ask what that was. He didn't ask why she was on conversational terms with Izunia, why she knew him well enough to pick apart his motivations, or whether or not she really  _did_ want Noct delivered to him—as it sounded—merely so Ardyn could kill him.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to any of those questions.

* * *

The ride back to Hammerhead was, if possible, more tense than the ride to Insomnia had been. Though Ignis hadn't seen what the others could, he had heard enough to guess at what they were thinking. Reina, meanwhile, was offering no answers to quell their fears. He wasn't surprised. She still had her secrets.

When Cor pulled into Hammerhead, Reina lost no time in leaving the others behind. She would keep her own council, of course—or perhaps she was seeking solitude to speak with King Regis—but Ignis made to follow after the sound of her footsteps, nevertheless. Someone caught his arm before he could do so.

"Tell me she's still on our side," Cor said.

Yes, that was more or less what he had guessed they would think.

"Of course she is."

"And what about her making nice with the Starscourge incarnate? What else is she keeping from us, Ignis?"

"I don't know," he said, and that was the plain truth. "But I trust her, regardless. Whatever her motivations, whatever her reasons for doing this, I know she seeks only to protect the kingdom and support Noctis."

"That isn't what it sounded like." Cor let go of his arm.

"Have some faith, Marshal. She is still our queen."

As he walked away, he caught the last of Cor's words—whether Cor had meant him to or not:

"No. She has changed."

It was just as well Ignis already had his back turned. He couldn't have denied that one if he wanted to.


	49. Secrets and Lies

__

######  _15 September, 759:_

Though Reina's footsteps had long since faded away, Ignis knew what direction she had gone in. He also knew where she was most likely to turn up. So he went there. It took more time to get around in Hammerhead; it was less familiar than Lestallum. But he found the chain link fence that ran around the perimeter and followed it to the opening. Then he followed the outside, dragging his gloved hand over the uneven surface as his cane skimmed the ground ahead.

"Reina?"

"I'm here, Ignis."

He had guessed right twice in as many minutes. Perhaps he did know her better than he gave himself credit for.

He drew level with her, pausing when he could hear her breath beside him and reaching out to brush his fingers over her back. It was the place just outside of Hammerhead—the spot where she and Noctis had laid in the dirt all night after His Majesty had died; the spot they had rolled on the ground, laughing for the first time in months; the spot where Reina had made a memorial to the late King Regis of Lucis.

"How is the memorial?" Ignis asked.

"It keeps growing." Her voice was soft—that in itself was almost jarring, since the last time he had heard her speak was on the steps to the Citadel and it had been anything but. "I didn't really expect anyone to notice when I made it. I thought… 'these outlanders hardly knew they  _had_ a king, let alone that he's gone.' But I was wrong. People do remember him. Everywhere I go, people want to tell me and I never know what to say. Some of them were Insomnian—telling me how much they admired Father, or sharing a story of that one time they met him. Some of them never even saw him, except maybe once on TV, but they want to tell me they appreciate what he did for them… for everyone."

Ignis wrapped his arm around her shoulders and, after a moment—hesitation?—she leaned into him.

"The Glaives have left things, too. But they don't talk to me about him."

Neither of them wondered why that was, so Ignis didn't offer up the answer. He just said, "Many of them seem to genuinely regret the part they played in the fall of Insomnia. I do not believe they meant for it to turn out this way."

Reina sighed, "I know."

And yet, she couldn't forgive them. He didn't ask her to.

They stood in silence for a long time, after that. Regardless of what Gladio and the others were wondering, Ignis didn't voice any questions. She knew he had them—just as she knew everyone else did. Whether or not she filled in the gaps was entirely up to her and pushing wasn't going to help anyone. He had learned that the hard way.

Eventually she did speak.

"I suppose you want to know what happened in Insomnia… and with Ardyn."

"I know full well that you have knowledge you have not shared with me. But I trust that you will use it in the most befitting way."

She laughed bitterly. "No one else does."

"You gave them an unpleasant surprise, today. One they won't forget but, in time, they will come to terms with."

Again the silence stretched. Ignis let it. Either she would tell him or she wouldn't.

Finally: "There are too many things I cannot share… but suffice it to say that Ardyn… he is a product of his environment. Terrible things happened and none of them were his fault."

It wasn't something he had ever expected to hear about Ardyn. It also wasn't something he had ever expected her, of all people, to say about him.

"You… do not believe what he has done is wrong…?" Ignis ventured forth only cautiously.

"Of course it is. Do not misunderstand: he is, by no stretch of the imagination, a good man. He is evil and twisted. He is the definition of corruption. He is, in the most literal sense, that which is wrong with this world. But it wasn't always that way. Two thousand years ago, when the people of a fledgling Lucis looked to him for guidance and protection, he  _was_ a good man. He was a man who was willing to give his all—even himself—to protect his people. He wasn't so different from Father, in that respect."

In spite of the unexpected and—under any other circumstances—outlandish claims, Ignis didn't doubt the truth of her words. She knew things now, whether through the ring or through her Dreams, that otherwise had been lost through the ages.

"What happened to him?" He asked.

"The only thing he was ever guilty of was trying too hard to save his people." She paused and he felt her shift and look up toward him. "You are aware—I believe—that each Caelum has their own strengths, their own magic, as suits their reign?"

"I am."

"He was the first. A divine healer among mortal men…" She told a tale that no one else alive knew to tell, of a king who gave his life willingly for his people, but when he turned to the Astrals to be cleansed of corruption, they turned their backs on him. They condemned him to death, though he could never truly die.

"...And so he became what he is, now. Two thousand years of hatred can twist even the best man beyond all recognition."

Ignis listened to every word, hardly knowing what to make of them. This was history before their written texts. This was history beyond the knowledge of anyone living, save Reina. Had the kings always known all this? Surely not. If King Regis had known what the chancellor was, he never would have let Ardyn set foot in the Crown City.

He didn't doubt the authenticity of it. Wherever her information had come from, Ignis trusted she knew the truth. But…

"Why does he despise the Gods? Was it not the crystal that rejected him?"

"The crystal is not sentient. It is Eos; it is a heart, not a brain. It is the source of the ring's power and, in a way, it is a… scale, of sorts. It weighs a person's worth and strength, but it is the Astrals who pass judgment once they have been weighed. When Ardyn stood before the crystal, I believe—though I cannot know for certain—that it failed entirely to recognize him as human. His blood contained too much of the scourge, by then, and so it saw him only as a daemon. But it was Bahamut who cast him out, who declared him corrupted beyond redemption, and who placed Ardyn's brother on the throne in his place. His brother holds some of the blame for what happened, and he tasted Ardyn's revenge for that. He could have denied Bahamut's word. He could have used the crystal's light to cleanse his brother. But he didn't."

"I… see," Ignis said, "And so you pity him, knowing the truth of his past."

"I pity him… and I understand him."

Ignis hesitated, wanting to ask but not knowing if he should.

"Does this understanding… extend to his hatred…?"

"Of my family?" Her response came without pause. "You know I value them more than anything. I will stand by Noctis when he returns. I will stand with him until the bitter end."

"And… the Gods?"

This time she did not reply. That, in and of itself, was a response.

So that was it. They had a truce, of sorts, based in a mutual understanding. A mutual hatred. Though it was hard to say what—beyond empathy—would drive such a hatred from Reina. He suspected it had something to do with the loss of her family.

"He may well be trying to manipulate you," Ignis said.

"I have no doubt."

"And yet… you… like him?" Perhaps that was the wrong word.

"In a way," she said. "We stand on opposite sides of the divide, but for now we have an understanding. When the time comes, I will stand against him because it must be done; he must die if this world is to live."

Ignis nodded slowly. "I cannot say I understand this arrangement, and perhaps you mean for me not to, but I will stand beside you all the way. I trust your judgment."

Reina covered his hand with hers, squeezing his fingers.

"I know," she said.

* * *

It was a Shield's place to stand by her queen. It was difficult to do that if she thought her queen was wrong.

_What would Dad have done?_

Iris picked at the frayed hole in her pants. A few feet away, the hunters were sitting around a fire built in an old metal trash can, swapping stories. Cor, Prompto and Gladio were with them, as well, but Cor, at least, was silent.

Her dad would have talked to King Regis; he would have made his beliefs and concerns known and, in the end, he would have followed King Regis regardless of what conclusion their discussion came to. It wasn't quite so simple with Reina.

Back when Reina had first taken control of Lucis, everyone always said how much she was like her father. Iris couldn't see it, not anymore.

Reina didn't like to talk to people. She didn't answer questions; she didn't even try to dodge them, she just outright ignored them. She was cold. She was closed off. And if all of that still failed to scare someone away, she was outright rude.

It was Iris' place to protect the queen, even from herself. Months ago, she had thought that just meant the magic and the ring; Reina still used them too much, she still pushed herself too hard, and Iris had stopped her on more than one occasion. But now she wondered. More was happening behind Reina's smooth facade than anyone could even begin to guess—that much Iris knew for certain. She had plans; she had intentions. These things she was doing—pushing people away and all the rest—it was probably all a means to some unknown end, but it was difficult to say for certain.

If it wasn't on purpose then she needed to know it was happening and no one was going to tell her if not Iris. And if it  _was_ on purpose then… well, all Iris could do was make it known and trust Reina to do what needed to be done.

Iris rose from her seat, brushing herself off. This turned out to be pointless, since her hands were just as dirty as her clothes, but it made her feel a little bit better. Then she went to find Reina.

The memorial for King Regis had started out as a little pile of stones. Some time in the past three and a half years, someone had built a little structure around it: four sturdy posts with a peaked roof to keep the rain off. That had eventually been painted—the red made it stand out even in the dark—and hung with a strand of little lights. The lights went on and off over the months and years (they were off, now) depending on the status of power in Hammerhead, but the strand remained. Now there was a little paper lantern hanging from the front; the candle inside was burning.

Tokens and gifts filled a smooth clay bowl in front of the piled rocks. At a glance, Iris could see a few coins of assorted origins, a signet ring, and a folded up piece of paper. Cid's old hammer leaned up against one of the wood posts, but the only things touching the rocks were those that Reina and Noctis had left themselves: a little silver keychain with a moon pendant and a silver necklace sporting a single emerald.

Reina sat in front of this all, legs crossed beneath her, elbows on her knees, and fingers steepled. Though she looked at the shrine, her eyes were unfocused. She did that a lot, when she had a moment to herself. Maybe she was Dreaming. Maybe she wasn't. But she wasn't going to explain even if Iris asked.

"Reina."

She stirred, blinking as her eyes refocused on the sight in front of her as if she  _had_ just woken.

"Iris." She didn't turn.

Iris took a breath. She probably should have decided what to say before coming all the way out here, but it was too late for that, now.

"I don't think Prompto and Gladio will tell anyone, but what we saw today really shook their trust." Iris folded her arms over her chest. She was talking to the back of Reina's head, but that was about as close as one got to talking to Reina, these days.

"And you want to know if you can still trust me?"

"No. I want you to know that people are going to start questioning, especially if you keep this up. With the way you keep to yourself, people are already worried."

"I know."

Well, that was one question answered, at least.

"Look, Rei; I don't know why you don't want anyone close to you. I don't know why you're rubbing shoulders with Ardyn. I don't know what's going on in your head. But I know you have your reasons and I have to trust that they're good reasons. I just need you to know that the way you're acting is pushing everyone away and eventually they're going to stop trying."

Reina was silent for a moment. It was difficult to guess whether she was thinking or whether she just didn't intend to respond. Sometimes she didn't.

Then: "And when are you going to stop trying?"

Iris sighed. She almost prefered the silent treatment to the passive aggression, but she wasn't going to take it at face value like everyone else did.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm your Shield and I'm going to be here whether you want me or not. No matter how hard you push, no matter how cold you get, no matter what you do, I'll be right here, where I belong, telling you when to stop. Telling you when you're wrong."

Again Reina was silent. Was she even breathing?

The pause between words stretched longer and longer, but Iris held her ground just to prove her point. Reina could push, but she was never going to ice Iris out.

All at once, Reina stood and turned around. "You make no sense."

Iris rolled her eyes. "Like you do?"

For a long time, Reina just stared at her; her eyes were sharp, narrow like she was looking for something. Then her expression shifted and… was that a smile? Surely not.

"So be it." She walked past Iris without another word. That was the closest she was ever going to get to acceptance, probably.

_So that's us, now, I guess_. Iris glanced at King Regis' shrine and thought of her own dad.  _Not quite what you guys had, but you make do with what you have, right?_

She bowed to the memorial, blew out the candle, and followed Reina back toward the lights.

One thing was for certain. If she needed more reason not to give in, it was Reina's belief that she would.

_You're not getting rid of me that easy._


	50. Reality

 

######  _September - January 759:_

Following the incident in Insomnia—and what followed—word of Reina's preference of company spread through Lestallum. She had little doubt who was responsible. Ignis would never have uttered a word without her approval, Iris had only redoubled her efforts as Shield since then, and Cor—in spite of the long, searching looks he now shot her—was as staunchly loyal as ever. No, it was none of them. Her retinue. Such as they were, now.

It was Noct's.

Not that it mattered. So people whispered when she passed by and looked a little more afraid and a little less awed; so her council shot each other covert glances whenever the subject of Ardyn came up. What did she care? All it did was multiply her sense of 'otherness,' and she was already encouraging that. Let them talk. She didn't need a pearly white reputation. She just needed to get them through this in one piece.

It hardly helped matters—or it did, just not in her favor—that every time she drew power from the ring and let that raw energy pour through her, the cracks in her skin faded more slowly. The first time they had vanished almost at once. Then it took minutes, then hours, then days until they lasted right up until the next time she opened them up again. And then they deepened. And they darkened. And she was marked, all across her skin in faint, spindly scars.

For now, they were only noticeable in the right light. But when she  _was_ in the right light, people stared.

It bothered the others more than her. Ignis walked through the streets at her side and clenched and unclenched his fists at the quiet conversations her presence stirred. Iris made sure that Reina knew exactly what people thought of her—as if it would change the path she walked. And Cor—even though he wondered, even though he struggled through his own growing doubts of her—had been seen sharply telling off anyone who spoke ill of her.

If she could have, she would have spared them that. Indeed, she  _did_ try—if they stopped caring about her like she wanted, they wouldn't have to suffer through this. All she could do—beyond continuing to push them all away—was bear it and wait. Eventually, they would give up. Eventually, they would join the ever-expanding crowd of people who wondered exactly which side she was on.

She had more pressing concerns than being liked.

Diminishing food stores necessitated more hot houses. More hot houses meant more energy spent, and the number of meteorshards coming in through the Glaives was not increasing.

Holly's two-year estimate until their meteorshards ran out dropped to one year.

They debated for hours on solutions. More resources were invested in rebuilding Galdin to recover the fishing port. Several fledgling attempts at animal husbandry sprung up across Lucis—though they suffered from the same issue, given that any livestock would need to be fed and that food would have to be grown.

Unnecessary energy usage was cut to the limit while they worked on the problem. They needed floodlights at every outpost, but it wasn't necessary any longer to rely on those solely. The new walls let them cut those lights by half. Indoor lighting was also severely constrained, diminishing toward one light bulb lit per household at any one time. Most other electronics were expressly forbidden—though as the fall wore on into winter, that presented a potential problem for heating.

A few years ago, Lestallum's residents might have squeezed by in winter without ever turning on a heater. Now, with the sun blacked out permanently, the summers were growing ever milder and the winters ever colder. The cooler parts of Lucis had it worse, still. The whole council knew they wouldn't be able to restrict heating forever; for now they distributed thick blankets and coats, and set crews to harvesting wood for fires. All the trees were dead, anyway.

That was another problem altogether—and not one that Reina had been altogether prepared to encounter. The food and electricity they had always known would cause trouble. But no one had ever much considered what would happen when every tree on Eos was dead—no sunlight to grow by.

It stopped raining—not altogether, but substantially enough that fresh water rapidly became another struggle. She hadn't even known that trees caused rain—or, as Sania repeated in ever-exasperated tones every time someone mentioned it, attracted rain due to something she eagerly referred to as a 'biotic pump.' Scientific interest aside, it was a problem.

And it was one more thing they needed to spend power on, once the wells ran dry and the groundwater grew increasingly murky—just one more way they took trees for granted.

Needless to say, between the more domestic concerns and the ever-present threat of the daemons, Reina's promise to keep everyone safe until Noctis' return was growing increasingly complicated to keep.

No amount of power granted by the Lucii would keep her people fed. No number of spectral arms would keep them from freezing to death. For their part in this, she hated the Astrals more than ever. Every time a child went to bed hungry, every time a parent succumbed to the scourge while Sania's inoculation idled along, Reina cursed them. This was  _their_ fault.

And they weren't even going to lift a finger to help.

These were the troubles she brought to her father at night, in those brief moments she had in which to shut her eyes. Some days, the physical world hardly felt real. Some days, she wondered if  _that_ wasn't the Dream and the dark moments in the emptiness of the In-Between wasn't reality. It felt closer to who she was—whatever that meant, now.

From the In-Between, the long night in a world without her family just looked like a nightmare. Here, she could wake from that bad dream and find herself in Insomnia with her father at her bedside. So she did.

In the months and years leading up to The Fall, Reina had hardly ever slept in that bed. But she opened her eyes and stared up at her bedroom ceiling as if she was seventeen again.

This world didn't roll around, tossing her backward at irregular intervals. It streamed forward, seamless, solid,  _real_. It wasn't too sharp or too loud or too empty. It had just the right number of other people in it:

One.

"A bad dream, and you did not even allow me to wake you?" Her father smiled down at her and it was just the same as it had always been.

Here she could  _be_. Here she could  _feel_.

She opened her mouth to tell him off for teasing her. Instead, her vision blurred and the tears spilled—hot, endless, with no rhyme but too much reason.

"Everything is—" Her voice quivered and cracked. She shut her eyes and tried again. "Everything is a bad dream in that world, Father."

"Oh, Reina, my dear…" He gathered her up in his arms, just like he had done when she was ten and couldn't sleep at night for fear of the dark and the Dreams.

She curled against him. Then she gathered up all the hurt, all the loneliness, all the emptiness, all the darkness, all the pain, all the stress, and all the strain. And she let them go. They drained out of her in a torrent, making her choke on her own breath. She traded emotional pain for physical until everything ached and she couldn't muster one more tear to drop.

He held her; he smoothed her hair back and kissed her head; he rubbed slow circles on her back, even after she had quieted.

This.

This was the real world.

Maybe she always thought she was Dreaming because she always was. Of course she couldn't tell the difference. Everything in that world was fake. Just a bad dream that she had to keep returning to because she needed to see how it ended.

There was no such thing as a world in which her father was gone. It  _was not real_.

Reina rested her head against his shoulder and held onto the front of his suit; it was all wet with tears, anyway, what did it matter if she wrinkled it, too? His coat scratched against her cheek—like his beard when he kissed her forehead. Wool never was quite soft, no matter how fine they spun it. He smelled like he always did—like earth and soap—like his room always did. Once, half the things she owned had smelled like him, too.

"My dearest, you are so strong. Stronger than I ever was."

She shook her head and buried her face against his collar. "You wouldn't say that if you could see…"

"I see enough. I see Lucis lit by your light. I see the sacrifices you make. That is never easy—by now you must know that it never will be. But you are too strong to give in."

She didn't feel it.

"They all hate me."

The whispers on the streets. The long looks across the council table. They didn't bother her, she told herself.

"It is not a monarch's job to be liked. Sometimes the world demands that you set aside public opinion for the greater good. A good queen is so rarely a good woman."

She looked up at him and he down at her. He smiled. It was a melancholy smile as he brushed his thumb over her cheek, but it was a smile.

"Alas, you spent many years striving to be loved. That you were so successful only makes it more difficult to experience the opposite," he said.

"I was not successful."

"No? Do you truly believe that, or are you merely feeling contrary, tonight?" This smile was teasing. "My dear, most everyone loved you. Perhaps because you followed directions a sight better than your brother, or because you were so often friendly and agreeable—even if not outgoing. None of those traits, however, is favorable for a ruler in dark times. But you must remember: the ones who matter will never change their minds. They see what is underneath."

"Like Ignis?"

"Like Ignis. Like your brother. And, most of all, like myself; for I will swear to the ends of Eos that none could love you as much as I do."

Her eyes found a few stray tears that hadn't yet fallen—just enough to blur her vision—but she smiled.

He was the only one who mattered.

* * *

While Reina warred against Eos, Cor held her army against the daemons. While she kept everyone fed and clothed, he did his part to keep them safe. And while she turned a blind eye on the whispering and the staring, Cor lashed out.

He told himself it was because he stood beside her, no matter what.

He told himself it was because he believed in her.

Not because he couldn't stand to hear his own suspicions whispered by anyone else. Not because he hoped that by silencing the others he could silence himself. Not because every time someone looked doubtfully on her it felt like looking straight into a mirror and he hated it.

He had sworn to stay by her side until the bitter end and the night was far from over. But how could he have these doubts if he was what he was meant to be? Ignis still believed in her; Iris still stood firm. Why couldn't he?

He tried.

He struggled against everything he was and had ever been. He struggled because she had taught him—she had shown him—that the only way to truly  _be,_ was without walls or inhibitions. He struggled because he should have told her, because they were meant to tell each other everything. He struggled because she didn't. He struggled because she wasn't the same and every time he looked at her he had this horrible, writhing sensation—like he had swallowed a bowl of snakes—that there was someone else wearing her skin.

She spoke to the Lucii, so she spoke to Regis.

She hadn't told him that.

She controlled the ring, so she had overcome whatever challenges they posed.

She hadn't told him that.

She spoke with Ardyn—casually—so they had spoken before. Casually.

She hadn't told him that.

And with each new thing he learned from someone besides her, he wondered:

What else was she keeping from him?

After all that time. After everything they had been through, after cold shoulders and misunderstandings, after icing each other out and refusing to communicate, after shouting matches and lectures. After learning what happened when they didn't. After connecting. After realizing they were really much the same.

She had turned around and thrown it all away.

Even that wasn't as bad as the alternative that Weskham offered. Unspoken, but lingering every time they caught eyes across the table.

"Whatever you say, I cannot believe she did that," Cor said, fed up of the look that was boring holes in the back of his skull.

"I haven't said anything." Wes still sounded the same. Nothing ever bothered that level-headed ass.

"You know what I meant."

"If you are referring to the open question of what, exactly, our princess-regent gave Ardyn in exchange for the ability to see Regis again—"

"You have  _no proof_  that she did anything of the sort. Until you do, this is nothing but slander."

Weskham only shrugged in that infuriatingly placid way.

"She would not gamble away lives on the off chance to see her father again no matter how much she misses him." Missed him. Even if she hadn't admitted it, Cor knew she was speaking to him. He only wished she would have said so.

"I can see I won't change your mind," Weskham said, making it perfectly clear that he fully expected Cor  _would_ change his mind. He straightened his vest and turned away. "I'll be in Caem if you need me."

Cor fought back the urge to grab him and beat the tranquility out of him. He also stopped himself from shouting after: 'She would  _never_ —'

Who was he trying to convince? Weskham? Or himself?

Cor didn't see her again until the next morning when he went looking for her in the training hall. By that time the doubts were eating away at him. He found her alone, as he usually did at that hour—too early even in an age when dawn didn't exist.

"Cor." She glanced at him over her shoulder before dropping back into a push-up.

"Reina." And he stood there awkwardly in the doorway, trying to sort out what to say. For a little while, it hadn't been so hard to talk to her. Now he felt a constant pressure to say something that she wouldn't disregard off-hand. Usually he failed.

"If you have something to say then say it." She hadn't moved but to put her chest to the floor five more times while he hesitated.

Gods take him if he let himself fall back into the habit of stumbling around what he wanted to say.

"I am struggling to reconcile what I know of you with your behavior, these past months."

He watched her drop once, twice more. "What would you like me to do about that?"

"Give me some reason to trust you! I  _want_ to help you. I said I would stay at your side and I mean to—I was unable to save your father and your brother is out of my reach, but I would give my life in your service if only you would let me."

"I don't want you life, Cor." It took her that long to even sound strained with effort.

"Then what would you have of me?"

"Put your loyalty in Lucis, not in me." She slowed, stopped, and sat back on her heels, still not looking at him.

It wasn't the answer he wanted but he tried to take it, anyway. If she told him to remain loyal to the kingdom rather than the person, wasn't that reason to trust her? She picked up her towel and dragged it over her face before standing up. For the first time, she turned to look at him. He could see the faint patchwork of scars on her arms and face in the training hall lights.

"What were you doing in Insomnia?" He asked, in spite of his best efforts not to.

"Gathering information."

"About what?"

She only stared at him in that level, empty way. She did that, sometimes, when she didn't want to answer a question.

Cor made a sound of frustration. "Why won't you tell me?!"

"Because I don't want you to know."

Obviously.

" _Why_?"

She crossed the room toward him, but she didn't stop and she didn't look at him; she just kept moving for the door. Cor made a sound of frustration, turning after her and catching her arm.

"I still love you, damn it! You will never change that."

Reina didn't turn around. But, for a moment, she did pause and he thought—or hoped—he read regret in the downturn of her head, in the slump of her shoulders.

Then she flashed blue and he was left holding nothing.

And, as he watched her walk away, he thought he heard her say,

"I hope you're wrong."


	51. Ardyn and the Chocobo

__

######  _7 January, 760:_

The Citadel hadn't been part of Insomnia, when the Crown City had belonged to him.

Well.

The  _last time_ that the Crown City had belonged to him.

Then again, two thousand years ago, the Crown City hadn't been much of a city, either. It had been little more than a collection of stone piles slapped with mortar and called buildings in what was now downtown Insomnia. Even the remnants of those old dwellings were gone, now. In their place stood towering skyscrapers of steel and glass.

Well.

_Had stood_.

Back then, the fact that Insomnia was built on an island had been a strategic advantage—limiting contact with outsiders meant limiting contact with the Starscourge—up until Ardyn had opened the doors (such as they were) to the ill and the outcast. Back then it hadn't been called Insomnia, either. That name dated back only as far as Somnus' timely death. Before that, it had been Saphena—when it was given a name at all—but most often it was just some variation of "the city" or "the seat." As in the Seat of the King. The Seat of the Sage.

Needless to say, very little about the capital city  _now_ resembled what it had been in Ardyn's time. Not that he would have had any qualms doing what he did if it still looked like home.  _Home_. What a laughable concept.

Still, the view from atop the Citadel was lovely. Ten thousand daemons crawled, like a plague of little black insects, and everywhere they went, the darkness spread. It hung above the crumbling city—a cloud of miasma to hold back the light.

"Insomnia." Ardyn flung his arms wide and threw his voice across the empty city. "I name you… Locus Ludere. My playground."

There were worse places to spend a few years waiting for the  _Chosen King_ to awaken so he could have one final moment of excitement before his darkness swallowed all of Eos. The architecture was quite striking. That statue of Somnus, for instance, looked absolutely wonderful with its head crushed into a fine powder and blown across the street. The throne room was so airy and accessible with that hole torn in the side of it. And this tapestry depicting the Ascension of the Chosen King was a perfect place to practice his artistic talents—they still needed work, but there were more tapestries; he wasn't concerned.

Here were the skeletons of Lucis' Ruling Council. He strung them up and hung them from the treaty room ceiling with one hand raised so that they waved to him whenever he walked through—which he did, for expressly that purpose.

Here was the room where they had convened and agreed upon their doom. The table now sported a myriad of muddy boot prints, as he had discovered it made a perfect place to practice his waltz-and-turn.

Here was the room where the crystal had once powered the Wall. The corpses had all been outside when he founded it, but they looked much better inside: death spiraling out from the Heart of Eos.

And here was the little Dreamer's room.

She hadn't asked to see it when she came to visit, but that was just as well, as his redecorating efforts hadn't reached so high in the Citadel at that time. Now that he had made it up to the top floor, leaving vastly improved chambers all along the way, he sifted through her possessions and found he didn't much care to rearrange them.

She wouldn't have cared, anyway. That was the most disappointing thing about her; she just didn't give a shit, anymore.

Much like him.

Oh, she would have cared if he had vandalized her father's room or violated the skeleton that still lay beneath the treaty room in a pile of gold and rotting clothing, but he didnt much feel like doing  _that_ either. After all, he couldn't have her turning on him, now.

Obviously.

Why else would he care?

Her room was more or less what he expected: tidy—but she had had people to do that for her—and richly, but simply, furnished. The wardrobe was full of dresses, each one hand sewn and custom sized for her—never to be worn again.

"Maybe when your brother is dead and your people are daemons." Ardyn flicked his fingers over a black silk gown and turned away.

Here was her bed—was everything in Insomnia black and gold?—and here was… a stuffed chocobo?

He picked it up: a fat little plush, so old that some of the seams were re-sewn, the stuffing was well-compressed, and half the fabric was balding while the other half was matted. Everything else here he had expected from her. But this? Sentimentality, from a girl who led—no  _commanded_ —one hundred generations of her ancestors?

Ardyn laughed.

"How sweet. I should return it to her."

She would be ever so happy to have him visit Lestallum.

* * *

Everyone outside of the walls of a settlement was cleared by the Marshal or Monica. No one went outside on their own. No one went outside without proper training and equipment—or else an escort. Most people just didn't go out. Those who did were the Kingsglaive—tracking down resources, eliminating threats, and clearing supply lines—or the hunters who aided them.

No one went outside by themselves.

No one walked up to Lestallum's gates without a weapon in hand, without a light source, without some prior notice.

But a man was standing outside, anyway.

At first Gutsco thought it was a daemon. Some walked on two legs like that, still maintaining some semblance of humanity. But it was always clear that they  _were_ daemons. This one… looked like a man.

"Who goes there?" He leveled his crossbow over the top of the wall and took aim. No one outside on their own in the dark was good news. That much he knew.

"A man of no consequence." The stranger removed his hat and performed a sweeping bow, as if this was an introduction. "Be a good lad and fetch your queen for me, will you?"

Whatever he had been expecting—and he still wasn't sure what that was—it wasn't a request to see Her Majesty.

No one walked up to Lestallum, unarmed and in the dark, and asked to see the queen.

He must have been hallucinating.

Too many thirty-six hour shifts.

"Run along, now," said the man—man?—of no consequence.

Somehow, he found himself obeying.

* * *

And so the good little peasant went and fetched his betters. All of them, from the looks of things. Heads appeared along the upper line of Lestallum's wall—once makeshift and cobbled together, but secured and rebuilt throughout the years until Ardyn could  _almost_ believe it was meant to be there. He could only see silhouettes; all their lights pointed out. For some reason.

Still, it was an awful lot of heads to just be the princess. She only had one. Last he checked. It was  _that_ one, second from the right, if he wasn't quite mistaken.

"Ardyn." Her voice confirmed his guess. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"Can't a doting uncle visit his favorite niece?" His only niece? The only one living, anyway. "I've brought you a present."

"It had better not be a corpse."

How highly she thought of him. "Why don't you come down and see?"

"Your Highness, this is  _not_ a good idea." That was one of her little minions. The one who always looked grumpy—like he had spent too much time frowning as a child and now his face was stuck that way permanently.

She vaulted over the edge of the wall, but never hit the ground. A blue outline of her falling figure marked the space where she disappeared; a flash marked the place where she reappeared. She rolled once and rose to her full—admittedly diminutive—height. The little Dreamer, apparently, didn't think much of her grumpy minion's advice.

Once she was out of the light he could see her face—painted all over with pale lines like a spider's web. She  _had_ been making good use of the ring, hadn't she? Ardyn smiled. He produced the stuffed chocobo from within his coat and held it out to her.

Usually, she looked a bit like someone had carved out her heart and left nothing in that space. Sometimes, when no one was looking, something melancholy showed through. But he couldn't remember ever having seen  _this_ look on her face. It was… surprise—a disappointingly uncommon one, for her—and reminiscence and  _hope_. It was as if, just for a minute, she had remembered what it felt like to be alive.

He was the only one who saw it.

"Chika…" She grasped the chocobo in both hands and rubbed her thumbs over its little balding head. Probably the reason it was balding in the first place.

" _Chika_ the  _Chocobo_. How  _adorable_!"

Now, as she pulled her eyes from the chocobo and looked up at him, she tried to hide amusement behind exasperation. It didn't work out very well for her.

"Thank you," she said.

"When you say it like that, I almost believe you mean it."

That look again. It was a good day for looks.

"Now then, won't you give your favorite uncle—" Only uncle "—a  _great big_ hug for all my hard work?" He leaned closer, dropping his voice, and added: "That is, if you still want them to despise you."

A pause.

He hadn't  _actually_  expected her to do it.

Why the hell would anyone hug him? She was madder than he was.

After a stiff moment, he gathered up what remained of his wits, stuffed them back under his hat, and kick-started his brain. He returned the hug, patting her back in what he judged to be an affectionate manner. Might as well make it believable.

"You know," he said, as she pulled away, "Most politicians do not run smear campaigns against themselves. It is simply not done."

"What are they going to do? Elect someone else? It's a hereditary monarchy."

"Right up until some higher power gives the crown to your brother—oh wait—!" He stepped back, putting his hand to his chest in mock contrition. "How insensitive of me!"

There it was again. The amused exasperation. It was such a nice look. It had taken him at least two hundred years to get  _his_ sense of humor back. Maybe she would manage after all.

"Thank you for the chocobo." She waved Chika as she walked away.

"Tuesday for tea, then?" Ardyn called after her as a blue shadow lept over the wall once more. "I'll bake cake!"

She didn't respond. He was betting she was still wearing that look, though.


	52. Daemons in the Dark

__

######  _January - March, 760:_

It was without any particular surprise that Reina noted the dwindling ranks of volunteers to accompany her on missions outside of Lestallum. The excuses, muttered while she was still in earshot, had to do with her being able to take care of herself. She knew better.

Her known association with Ardyn unsettled everyone who recognized what he was—even if they didn't understand the full extent of his identity. The fact that he had shown up in Lestallum in person, walking straight out of the night without even a light didn't help matters. But that was what she had wanted, wasn't it? To not be perceived as one of them—not just the Glaives, but everyone. Better they stay away. Better they believe her deviant because sooner or later she would have to do something that would make them wonder. And if they trusted her it would make them doubt. And if they doubted it would make them lose hope.

No, it was better not to be liked.

The growing blatancy of her patchwork scars was beginning to make her look that much less human. That wasn't the only consequence of her frequent use of the ring's magic. The scars she had expected. But—though she had thought at first it was only her imagination playing tricks on her in the bathroom mirror—her  _eyes_ were growing paler. She never saw her own face while she channeled the crystal, but Iris said her eyes glowed with blue-white light. Now it seemed they were bleached with it.

Just one more thing to set her apart. She wasn't one of them, anyway.

Now and then, however, came a time when she couldn't do without more hands, and Iris and Ignis alone would not suffice. The car trips were awkward. She elected to take a separate vehicle so that, if nothing else, the Glaives could have that time without her. She never did find out if they appreciated it. Probably they thought what she meant them to: that she did it for herself.

Cauthess Depot needed repairs. Old warehouses only survived for so long under the constant barrage of daemons, and their people couldn't handle defenses  _and_ repairs. Some might have managed one or the other—there were, as with everywhere else, hunters in Cauthess—but it was a stretch. Simpler—better—to bring in the Glaive. Or the ring.

Or both, as the case was, since no amount of arcana would allow her to control three hundred sixty degrees around a barricaded warehouse that was big enough for the entire population of Cauthess—such as it was. She could manage one side—two, perhaps, if she stood at a corner—but she needed the Glaives for the others. So here they were, taking places as far away from her as they were able, while still appearing to be following orders. Reina let them. Iris and Ignis, at least, remained beside her.

Clearing the perimeter was the first step. Easy enough. As of yet, the daemons were scarce. A few lingered here and there, picking at the weak points in the walls right up until bolt of lightning sent them flying.

But activity seemed to attract them. The trickled from the darkness, as if intrigued by the sounds and flashing lights.

"That's what I'm talking about." Iris drew her katana. "I was beginning to worry this was going to be boring."

"Be sure to save some," said Ignis. "You would not wish to appear selfish, would you?"

"Tell that to Rei."

Reina said nothing. The daemons were coming—in much larger waves than this sporadic flow. Why did she know that? She hadn't Dreamed this fight—not yet. It was more like… she could  _feel_ them, not unlike the way she could feel the Glaives through their bond to the crystal. But that made no sense.

Ignis' hand brushed her back. She caught his hand and threw and fire into an approaching knot of daemons. They scattered, squealing. For the moment, she pushed the strange sensation of connection from her mind; she dove into the fray with Ignis at her side.

She Dreamed and woke. She saw in every direction without having turned her head once. She pulled Ignis away from swiping talons and twisted in an arc, mirroring him, to cut down those closing in on them. On… him? They usually pressed in evenly. Tonight was different. Tonight was wrong. Even as the daemons multiplied, they formed asymmetrically around her and Ignis—weighted toward his side. She was forced to keep turning to put them to the blade.

"Something is amiss?" Even without seeing, Ignis knew it. Maybe he heard the difference. Maybe he registered what the changes in her movement meant. Maybe he just noticed the added tension in her body.

Regardless, she had nothing to tell him. Nothing that made sense, anyway.

"They are…  _only_ seeking you."

But no. That wasn't quite right, either. Iris was attracting a sizable crowd, cutting her way through with methodical precision. Off to the left, the Glaives were also handling the oncoming daemons without incident.

"Let go, for a moment," Reina said. "Stay on your guard."

Ignis did so without question, freeing his off hand and taking a defensive stance as he backed toward the wall. The daemons followed him—as was expected. They followed anyone who was out in the dark. Except… they moved  _past_ her to do so.

She walked forward one step, then another, away from the lights of Cauthess and into the darkness—the realm of the daemons as they laid claim to all of Eos. Not a single one struck at her. Not when she walked toward them, not when she dropped her naginata, not when she stood directly in their flow—unarmed and unaccompanied by her allies. They flowed around her, some pausing or circling, but ultimately moving on.

Why—?

Reina drew her naginata and ran one through. She twisted her blade in its abdomen, then pulled it free, watching the beast dissolve into miasma. The others backed away from her, making a wider berth in their path toward the Depot.

What the hell…?

She turned her back on them, facing the lights and exposing all of her weaknesses. Nothing happened.

"Rei, what the hell are you doing?!" Iris, catching sight of her as she stood fifty feet out into the flood of daemons, stopped holding her ground and started cutting a line toward Reina.

Reina held up a hand to stop her. The daemons still weren't attacking her. Because she could feel them? Or because…?

Just like with the Glaives, she could feel strands connecting her to each daemon. These strings felt sharper in her mind. Red fire, not blue fire—more like Ardyn's magic than that of the Lucii. And yet, if she tugged at them…

The daemons around her stilled. They stopped advancing on the Depot, stopped reaching for Iris, stopped slashing at Ignis. Farther out, more still moved; she had grabbed a handful of strands, but nowhere near all of them.

Iris stopped moving as well. She was staring at Reina. As well she should have been.

_In for a gil…_

She reached out farther, grasping all the red strings she could find and bundling them up. All of the daemons—at least every one that she could see—froze. On the edge of her vision a few more streaks of lightning blazed, a few more blades flashed, and then the Glaives grew still as well.

"Reina…?" Ignis' voice called through the unnatural silence as daemonic gibbering faded alongside the sounds of combat.

"I am here, Ignis."

At least, she thought she was.

Then again, she had also thought that she couldn't control daemons, so where did that leave them?

Her, at least, it left standing in the middle of a frozen horde. And if she twisted the strings just  _so_ —

All of them turned, drawn by some invisible line. They hesitated only a moment before they moved toward her: scampering and slinking, lumbering and flapping. Those Glaives that Reina could see backed away, putting their shoulders against the wall. She couldn't see those on the other side, but she could feel them just like she could feel the daemons. They were doing much the same. Those she  _could_ see shot each other glances before sidling as far away from her as they were able.

"Reina…" Iris' voice quivered, like she was trying not to back away, as well, but it was a struggle.

Iris glanced to either side, flinching away from the daemons that passed her, but none of them struck out at her. They were all focused wholly on reaching Reina. When they did, they swarmed around her—a mass of claws and teeth and wings. The chattering had resumed. They clicked and screeched in wordless sounds, and in her ears it sounded not like the cries of some beast restrained… but like the excited clamoring of a people standing before their god.

That was what they did when Ardyn walked through their midst.

Except Ardyn was the Starscourge incarnate. He  _was_ their god. He was what happened when a Caelum—with all the magic that accompanied the name—fell to the taint of the scourge.

Was that happening to her?

She didn't have the scourge, she told herself.

But would she have known? She could see it in other people. If it was early enough she could even burn it away with the light of the ring. But that was only when it was visible—she didn't have some extra sense that told her when a person was tainted. Looking at Ardyn, she couldn't tell… not without her prior knowledge.

Iris had reached her. She still held her katana and watched the daemons warily, and she could only move so close as the daemons piled in around Reina, but she didn't cut them down.

"Reina. If you want their trust, don't let them see this—whatever the hell it is." Iris glanced back toward the Depot, where every visible Glaive was staring at her in the center of a maelstrom of daemons. Horror was the only thing they could feel, witnessing this. Horror and revulsion.

It was what Reina felt.

But amidst all of that came a single, rebellious thought:

She didn't want their trust.

She could control the daemons. She could feel them; she could command them. Maybe it meant she was tainted. Maybe it meant she was becoming Ardyn—or something like him. Whatever the reason, it was one more tool. And she would use whatever she had to see her people safely through this night to the dawn—hang their trust; hang their respect; hang their perfect picture of a bright, shining queen in a white dress with the sun rising behind her. The world had turned on them. To make it through, they needed someone willing to turn on the world.

Perhaps Iris saw hesitation on her face. Perhaps she just knew. Either way, she shoved through the mass of daemons, disgust showing clear on her face as she kicked, cut, and pried her way to Reina. She grabbed Reina's shoulders and shook her firmly.

"Look. I don't know why you're okay with people disliking you—or fearing you. I don't know why you're encouraging it. I know you're not going to tell me, but you need to listen to me when I tell you that you  _do_ need to hold onto the Glaive. You can't protect Lucis by yourself. I know you don't want to be queen, but you need to be. So pull yourself together."

Reina blinked up at Iris. Four years had changed her; four years had changed everyone.

"I know."

"Then  _stop this_. Or get these things out of here. I don't care which."

Reina took the red strands and twisted them together. A collective squeal ran through the daemons as she pressed down on them.

_Go. Go back where you came from. Leave these humans alone._

It shouldn't have worked. It was crazy and ridiculous and everything else that went along. But, then again, she shouldn't have been able to feel them in the first place.

It worked.

They fled, surging out and away from her. In their wake they left silence and emptiness—and a thick tension as all the Glaives stared at her. Maybe from a standpoint of trust and respect, she should have just released them and allowed the Glaives to continue fighting them. That was a waste, though.

It seemed she didn't need the Glaives along to protect Cauthess Depot, after all.

"Send them back to Lestallum," Reina said.

"If you send them away all of that fear and distrust is going to fester and spread." Iris kept her back to the Depot, hardly moving her lips when she spoke.

They could remain here for the duration, watch as Reina held back the daemons without lifting a finger and probably come out on the other side even more unnerved—all the while wasting time—or they could go back, tell everyone what they had seen, and actually do something useful in the meantime. The others would find out later, one way or another. It was just a matter of when.

"Send them back."

Iris met her gaze mutely for a moment, mouth twisting. Then she turned and went to deliver the orders. She hardly—if ever—argued once Reina had made a decision; she made her views known and then forced herself to stand by whatever judgement Reina ultimately cast. It was a relief, after spending all day being pestered and questioned by Cor and the others. Why did she bother to stay, at all?

Ignis was still waiting near the wall. He didn't ask what had happened, when she finally joined him, but it wasn't because he didn't want to know. Then again, he always put together more than she expected. Maybe he had already guessed.

Iris returned when all the Glaives were gone. The daemons were still out of sight; Reina could feel them, still, waiting just beyond, as if held back by some invisible bubble. She had expected them to struggle, to try to break free of her control or  _something_. But they didn't. That was almost more unnerving than the rest. Almost.

One good thing did come from the unpleasant surprise; while everyone else was busy tiptoeing around the catoblepas in the room, the workmen from the Cauthess Depot completed the repairs on their wall. The daemons would come back as soon as she was gone, Reina knew, but that was rather the point of the wall. It would hold. For now.

"Drive." Reina climbed into the car behind Ignis and shut the door.

"Lestallum?" Iris turned the key in the ignition.

"Insomnia. I need answers."


	53. A Mind at Ease

__

######  _21 March, 760:_

"Stay here. I'll be back."

Iris was going to put up a fight; that was the look for it. Somehow, Reina didn't think it was her safety that Iris was worried about.

"If you charge off into Insomnia, who's gonna drag your ass back?"

"I'll just have to drag it back myself."

Iris still looked mutinous. She stood with one hand on the car door, preventing Reina from shutting it, and the other on her hip. Behind her, a few feet away, was Ignis. He didn't say a word, just stood with his head bowed, however much he wanted to say.

"Later," she had told him. But she wasn't even sure she meant to follow through on that promise.

He deserved so much better.

"You've got responsibilities, you know," Iris said.

"Insomnia holds no threats for me, Iris. Ardyn will not harm me and—it appears—neither will his daemons. I ask you to stay for your own safety."

"If I was worried about my own safety, I wouldn't have taken this job," Iris said, but she let go of the door and stepped back, anyway. "Three hours."

"Four."

"Three and a half."

Reina sighed. Had Clarus been so troublesome with Father?

"Very well." She shut the door.

The clock on the dash read 6:20PM. If she wasn't back before ten, Iris would go charging in after her. Too bad Ardyn did things on his own schedule.

She hit the gas and swerved out of Hammerhead onto the open road. At least there was no traffic. In fact, there were no obstacles at all—no daemons leapt out of the shadows at her, none crawled out of the ground right in front of the car or dropped down from the east overpass. If they had been entirely absent, she might have been able to forget about why. But they weren't. They were on the edge of the road, heads turning as her headlights passed by. Watching. In the mirror, she watched them close in on the road and follow after her until she turned a corner.

That was worse than not seeing them.

The gates to Insomnia were wide open, as they had been the last time Reina had passed through. She parked the car when the road halted in a crumble of rubble that had once been an apartment building. And she walked.

It would have been nice to claim she didn't flinch and turn every time miasma swirled and a daemon burst from the ground. At least no one was around to watch her stoic facade fall to pieces. Why didn't they attack her? Why could she feel them? And why the hell were they  _following_ her?

The answers she wanted—she hoped—were waiting in the Citadel.

"Ardyn!" She stopped when she reached the bottom of the Citadel steps and called out. He already knew she was there, doubtless. Why was he making her wait?

"Little Dreamer. To what do I owe the pleasure? Chocobo sprouted a hole? Come to your  _dear uncle_ to patch it up?" His voice echoed, coming from everywhere and nowhere, then solidified with his body at the top of the stairs.

She had, in a way. When her hollow world tore down the middle, she came looking for him. Maybe she should have worried about that, should have doubted that whatever patch he came up with wouldn't be one she wanted, but she didn't. In all those years he hadn't set her astray, whatever the others said. He had only helped.

Hadn't he?

"I can…  _feel_ the daemons." Reina mounted the steps, pausing to find the word, then resuming her ascent.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Call it… a gift." He spread his hands. "Can't an uncle dote?"

She stopped when she reached the stop of the stairs, turning to look at him properly.

"You did this?" Her brow furrowed.

"Who else?"

The buzzing in her mind faded into silence. She didn't have the scourge. She wasn't tainted and turning into a daemon—only able to sense them, to control them, because of corrupted magic. She wasn't going mad.

She wanted to ask how, but her voice caught before any words came out. Relief made fear sharper. The mind had a way of putting everything else aside in the moment, but once safety was reached it all came flooding back.

Reina ducked her head and ran her hands over her cheeks. They came away damp with tears.

"Come, now, don't tell me you were  _afraid_?"

Strange, that her mind interpreted this as safety. Usually tears only came when she was on her own or with someone who put her at ease—Ignis or Father…

Or Ardyn.

His hands grasped her shoulders and she didn't pull away. With two fingers beneath her chin, he turned her face up toward him.

"There's nothing to fear, little Dreamer. You are, after all, the most powerful being—alive or dead—in all of Eos."

Reina took a quivering breath, blinking back tears, and looked into his eyes.

They were the same color as Father's.

"Here I've gone to all this trouble to give you a gift… one might think you don't appreciate my efforts." Ardyn stuck out his bottom lip in a theatrical pout.

"I—thought I had the Starscourge."

"You thought you were turning into  _dear Uncle Ardyn_? Don't make me laugh, little Dreamer!" He laughed, anyway, letting go of her and turning on his heel. He walked away along the top of the stairs—slowly, to make sure she was watching. "It takes two thousand years to reach such a pinnacle of corruption."

Reina swiped at her cheeks again, taking another breath. Once she was certain she could speak levelly, she said, "How did you do it?"

"How do you share your magic with your Glaives?"

"I don't."

Ardyn waved a dismissive hand. "How does  _one_ share their magic with  _another_ , then."

It wasn't a process she thought about often—once set, it remained unless severed—but she knew the answer by heart, in spite of having done it only a few times in her life.

"There's a bond that connects Caelums to the crystal—and to the Astrals. We borrow our magic from a higher power, but we can form a similar link with others, allowing them to channel a watered-down form of our power. Some people take to it more easily than others. The Glaives were all chosen for their aptitude—something in their bloodline makes it easier for them to use our magic, and use more of it. Others can use only the simplest forms of the crystal's magic—the ability to reach into the In-Between and summon banished objects is among the easiest. Most people can use that and little else."

"You've been attending your classes. Very good, little Dreamer," said Ardyn. "Your Glaives  _are_ special… one might even think they had Caelum blood in them."

"They—" Reina stopped, trying to string her words together before they tumbled out in a heap. "They're related to us?"

"Somewhere, far back in the history of Lucis. Not so cleanly cut as you and I—they might be distant cousins. It hardly matters. But here I haven't answered your question yet—perhaps you know, already, by now?"

She  _felt_ for the answer before she responded. When she borrowed magic from Noctis, she could feel the link between them. Now, she could feel the link between herself and all of her forefathers. But there was another. A new one. This one showed red in her mind, unlike the glowing blue strands that knit the Lucii together. It was easy to pick out from among the others.

"Ahh, so you  _have_ found it," he said. "Funny little thing, isn't it? Magic. Now run along. Your  _Shield_  is waiting. I've left another present for you at the gates.  _Do_ try to appreciate this one a little bit more, won't you?"

She didn't ask how he knew Iris was waiting. It seemed he was in her head more often than she was herself, these days. She also didn't ask what  _gift_ he had left at the gates. While she wasn't sure she wanted to know at all, something told her she would find out one way or another. So she just stood there while Ardyn's form blurred with miasma and dissolved, entirely. Then she went. At least that hadn't taken as long as it might have. No time to worry why she felt like crying in front of Ardyn was a good idea.

The daemons were just as non-confrontational on her way out; they kept their distance, never attacking but ever following in her wake. Apparently whatever magic Ardyn had shared actually drew them to her. She would learn the extent of its power, later. For now—

The car she had parked just inside the city was gone; in its place sat a sleek, aubergine sports car.  _Her_ car. The car Father had given her the night she turned twenty, along with its twin to Noctis. She had all but forgotten that it existed.

She stopped short, staring a moment, before she gathered the courage to step forward and run her fingers over the smooth body. In the year she had owned it while still living in Insomnia, she had scarcely used it. She never went anywhere. Now she did—so frequently that it was often impractical to use the ancient fuel-burning truck that the hunters provided. Why not drive her own car? It wasn't the Regalia—nothing would ever feel so keenly of home and Father ever again—but it was from him. Two-of-a-kind, twinned cars, approved and paid for by the king himself. Now it was the only one left of its pair.

"Thank you…"

Ardyn would hear. He was always watching her.

The keys were in the ignition. Reina slid inside—it felt strange to drop  _down_ into a car—and ran her fingers over the wheel. How many times had she driven it, before? Less than a dozen, probably.

It was time to change that.

* * *

The Glaives returned first. That, by itself, wasn't surprising; nor was the fact that, when questioned about Reina's whereabouts, most of them shook their head and looked away as if the only thing they wanted was to  _not_ know where she was. Cor resisted the urge to grab one and drag the answer out of them one way or the other. He would wait for Libertus—who had the benefit of not being unconditionally hated by Reina.

"Libertus." Cor caught him coming in; Libertus, at least, maintained respect for Reina. "Where is Reina?"

Libertus pursed his lips and shook his head.

_That_ was the strange part.

"I dunno, Marshal. Some weird stuff happened out there and Iris sent us back, saying they could handle it on their own. She's probably still in Cauthess."

"What kind of 'weird stuff'?" After she had walked out of Insomnia chatting amicably with Ardyn and later invited him to Lestallum to deliver her stuffed chocobo, Cor had thought nothing else she did would classify as 'weird' in comparison.

"It was alright at first, but then the daemons started doing some creepy shit."

Weren't they 'creepy' by definition?

"They just… stopped. Stopped attacking us—I watched them just stand there frozen and cut through half a dozen like that. Ain't never seen one do that before. It was like someone just hit pause. Then Her Majesty did something and they all moved again—they went straight toward her, but  _none of them_ attacked. They just swarmed around her like she was calling to them and she just  _stood there_ in the middle of them, watching dozens of daemons crowd around her. She wasn't even surprised. She  _meant_ it, Marshal. She can control the daemons. What does that mean about her, huh?"

She could  _control_ them? Only Ardyn did that—they guessed there was some hive mind that he could tap into, but  _Reina?_

Reina spent an awful lot of time with Ardyn. They were familiar. Comfortable. But he was the epitome of what they were fighting against. Once she had recognized that. Once she had despised him and listened to his words only with the highest skepticism and caution.

"I am sure there is some explanation," Cor said.

"Sure. But who's to say we'll like what it is?" Libertus voiced Cor's unspoken thoughts. In the silence that followed, he gave Cor an uncomfortable smile and walked away.

Cor stared after him a moment before shaking his head and turning back toward the Leville.

Where had he gone wrong? For a little while, he thought they understood each other; he wanted to help and she didn't resent it when she understood his motivations. But then…

Then she changed.

Then she wasn't  _just_ trying to do it all on her own, but she was doing things and not telling anyone about them. She was rubbing elbows with imperials and passing time with daemons. A few years ago he would have said Reina would never stoop to that level. What had changed? What had happened to the woman who was honorable and true, who inspired respect and reverence from her people instead of fear?

What had happened to Regis' daughter?

_I don't know what to do anymore, Regis. Everything I try… it's as if she's not even the same person anymore._

The most uncomfortable possibility of all was that maybe she wasn't. It was a possibility he hadn't wanted to consider, even with Weskham's constant hints that maybe she had sold something in return for the power of the ring and the chance to see Regis again. But now the Glaives returned and spoke of her commanding daemons. And he couldn't help but wonder...

Maybe it  _wasn't_ still Reina Lucis Caelum behind that face.

They all knew Ardyn loved to play mind games. Maybe he had taken them a little bit further with Reina.

Cor shook his head, taking the stairs up to the Leville in one step. That was crazy.

Almost as crazy as Reina controlling daemons.

He put it out of his mind and found work to occupy the time until her return. It took longer than it should have. Longer than it would have taken just to repair the defenses at the Cauthess Depot. When she finally did arrive, he found out why.

She didn't say she had been in Insomnia. She didn't have to; that was the only place she could have gotten that car.

They caused a stir, rolling in that way. More of a stir than Reina usually caused, even. Nothing left in Lucis made quite the same sound as a Crown City car, and it drew out half of Lestallum with the rumble of its engine alone.

Reina climbed out of the driver's seat, passed the keys to Iris, and parted the crowd just by walking toward it. Cor intercepted her.

"You went to Insomnia again," he said.

Reina didn't look at him, didn't stop walking, and didn't respond. She forced him to fall into step beside her or be left behind—he wasn't so sure he wouldn't prefer to have her walk away from him. What he  _did_ want was to force her to face him, to look into her eyes and see if he couldn't still see  _her_ inside.

What if he didn't?

He couldn't even bring himself to try.

"Will you explain what the Glaives saw in Cauthess?" He asked instead.

"Yes. But only once. Call the others."

Cor was so surprised that she had not only answered his question, but in the  _affirmative_ , that he forgot to keep walking. She didn't seem to notice. He stood and stared after her for a moment, doubt boiling in his stomach, before he went to find the rest of the council.

By the time Cor reached the conference room, most of the others were already assembled, though the whole room was silent. He took his seat beside Weskham's empty chair; the rest of Reina's council—if it could be called that, when she didn't let them council her—trickled in during the next minute. When the table was as full as it was going to get, she spoke without preamble.

"I can control the daemons."

No one moved. No one breathed. Cor hoped she was going to give more of an explanation than that.

"Ardyn has gifted me that. Perhaps he intends to ingratiate himself to me—I know not. What matters is that I now have the power to repel them and hold them at bay indefinitely. We should, in the days to come, decide how to use this to the fullest advantage. At the very least, it seems clear enough that my presence negates the need for a guard or patrol on the city, which frees up Glaives and hunters for other business while I am here. I can also give indefinite reprieve for necessary repairs to any fortifications without additional protection. Doubtless there are more applications I have not yet considered."

The silence was either because the news itself was stunning or because no one could quite believe she had  _actually_ answered questions for the first time in what must have been years. Or both.

"What sort of range does it have?" Iris, on Reina's left, spoke first.

"Enough to cover the city, at least. I believe I can extend it, in time."

"It is not wise to trust this, Your Highness," Cor said. "If this thing came from Ardyn, what's to stop him from taking it away while we are relying on it? We should avoid putting our people in those situations."

"Given that I must be present for it to function and my presence, with or without this ability, almost entirely assures the survivability of any situation, I hardly think your caution is justified."

Once she would have listened to that. Once she would, if nothing else, have acknowledged the risk she was putting everyone under by trusting in Ardyn and his 'gift.' Now she didn't even do that.

But why wouldn't she trust Ardyn, if he was inside her head, making her think whatever he wanted?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has Reina noting that Ardyn's eyes are the same color as Regis'. They are not. This is me, letting you know that I know they are not. Take from this what you will.


	54. Of Gods and Men

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###### _March-June 760:_

The supply of meteorshards waned throughout winter, when heating caused electricity usage to spike. They had already started sending Glaives out for the express purpose of recovering more shards and offered recompense for anyone else who brought them in until meteorshards themselves became something of a currency. But it wasn't enough.

Reina filled in the holes. She could do the same work that several squads of Glaives did in half the time and with none of the risk. With her new link to Ardyn, she could walk in the night without being hindered by daemons. It was unsettling, at first, to watch them crawl out of the shadows and stare after her or—worse yet—follow her without ever attacking. But she grew accustomed to it, until it was eventually commonplace—even welcome.

She didn't usually have so much company.

Since she rarely slept, it was just as well that she find something more productive to do with the extra time. The gate guards in Lestallum watched her suspiciously when she disappeared into the night without a light. They spoke about her, once she was gone. Reina knew because Iris was still insisting on telling her every reason the people hated her. They asked each other, in half-lowered tones, if she was going to speak with Ardyn—which was ridiculous in its own right, because she didn't need to  _go_ anywhere to speak with him. They asked each other if she was reporting to him.

When she returned with a full bag, they talked more. Likely she could have killed the rumors by dumping out the meteorshards in plain view, but she didn't.

This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? Now she was more daemon that human to them.

It was summer again—a full year from the day she had decided she could never tell them what she knew—when her carefully cultivated reputation of deceitful 'otherness' paid off.

The Astrals were summoning every Glaives to Angelgard and she didn't like it in the least.

If she had needed any further justification for hating the Astrals, her conversation with Bahamut was it. The literature claimed that the "Astrals' behavior cannot be interpreted because their thought patterns transcend the comprehension of mankind." And maybe their thought patterns  _did_ transcend human comprehension. But only because humans had a limited capacity to imagine how overwhelmingly  _stupid_ one single being could be.

Reina's capacity was expanding every day.

Angelgard was where Noctis would awaken from. For some reason that made the fool Astrals believe they needed Lucis' entire army to protect it. Never mind the fact that Noctis would not return for another six years. Never mind the fact that Lucis  _needed_ the Glaives to protect her people—not that the Astrals had ever given any indication of caring what happened to any of the humans. Never mind the fact that there was  _nothing to protect Angelgard against_ because Reina controlled the daemons and Ardyn wasn't likely to attempt to prevent Noctis' return.

Nevertheless, the Astrals called.

"This is not something we can merely overlook, Your Highness. Every Glaive in Lucis is experiencing these headaches and visions," Cor said."You said yourself that Noctis felt something similar before meeting with Titan."

"Angelgard is a conduit, not unlike the crystal itself," Reina said. "It connects to the other realms—though the ability to use that is highly limited. It is, however, the place where Noctis will re-emerge. As it stands, the scourge is heavy upon it; Ardyn's power is strong enough to block that connection, if he wished to."

He wasn't going to, though. If he had wanted Noctis stuck in another realm for eternity, he wouldn't have let the island slip through his fingers.

The atmosphere around the council table stilled at Ardyn's name. The looks she received were searching, even doubtful. With good reason.

"And does he?" Cor asked.

"No," she said.

He didn't believe her—not if that look meant anything. Once, he would have.

"What do you mean for us to do, Your Majesty?" Libertus stood on the opposite side of the table. Like most of the other Glaives, he was dressed in casuals that resembled the hunter's fatigues. Perhaps they noted the looks she gave those who wore the old Kingsglaive uniform. Whatever the reason, she hadn't seen one in years.

"Go to Angelgard. The headaches won't cease until the  _Astrals'_  call has been answered." She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice. She failed.

"I will have the Glaive head for Galdin, but it means less protection elsewhere," Cor said.

"The hunters will have to pick up the slack," Reina said. "Until the Glaive returns, there are to be no further deployments—everyone remains within walls unless the daemons move outside. Dave—"

"Got it, Your Majesty." Dave had already been halfway out of his chair by the time Reina spoke his name. The look that crossed his face, however, suggested immediate regret as soon as the title left his lips.

"Not while my brother draws breath."

"R-right. Your Highness." Dave bowed. Then he fled.

Cor was rising to his feet, as well. "Libertus, assemble everyone still in the city. Monica, send the missive to everyone in the field; they are to meet in Galdin at the earliest possible time."

"Sure thing, Marshal."

"Right away, Marshal."

And, with the meeting room clearing out as tasks were assigned, Reina stood and motioned to Iris. "We are going, as well. Ready the car."

"You got it, Your Highness." Iris never seemed to forget which title to apply to her, in spite of the fact that everyone called her the Queen's Shield, but she still made a point of calling her 'Rei' in private. A subtle reminder of who they had once been, perhaps?

"Your Highness—" Cor had half a dozen objections lined up. She had responses to all of them, but that didn't mean she wanted to listen to him complain for twenty minutes. Again.

"The decision has been made, Cor. You have work to do."

* * *

Galdin Quay had been rebuilt. Strictly speaking, it was still a quay, but it was nothing like the tropical resort that had once adorned the beach. No more sparkling glass. No more glittering lights on the water.

It was marked by a sturdy concrete wall, built for function rather than appearance. It did its job. Inside, the buildings were similarly functional and drab: living quarters broken up into apartments to give some semblance of normalcy, a barracks for the hunters and Glaives on duty here, a processing plant for the fish brought in, and an indoor farm. It was more a fort than a resort—not the sort of place anyone would choose to vacation to. Not that anyone went on vacations, anymore.

The vast majority of the Glaives were already present when Iris pulled the car into Galdin. The remainder trickled in by the squad over the next hour or two. They clustered on the dock, lingering down the causeway and all the way out toward the water where her father's boat bobbed. Reina held back, apart from them. Only Iris and Ignis remained at her side and both were silent throughout the wait. It was just as well. She didn't want to go to Angelgard and meet any Astrals face to face, but she wanted to talk about it even less.

When the Glaives were all assembled, she made her choice.

"I want you both to remain here."

"That's the shittiest idea you've had in awhile," Iris said. Just an Amicitia, telling her Caelum the plain truth.

"The whole Glaive will be on that island with me. I will be safe."

"Right. Not really what I was worried about, though." Iris crossed her arms over her chest.

Of course not. Physical safety was just a convenient excuse. Would that she could have taken them both with her; chances were, she would need someone she trusted out there. But that meant showing something she couldn't show. Better that they remain on the outside.

It left her with no one for company but that voice in the back of her head.

"I need you to stay here," Reina repeated.

For a moment she thought Iris would refuse but ultimately she heaved a sigh and dropped her arms.

"Fine. But you take more than two hours and I'm swimming out there, myself."

It was almost nice that someone still cared—in spite of Reina's best efforts. Except Iris didn't. Not really. She was doing her duty; she was following in her father's footsteps and fulfilling the oath of her bloodline.

Just like Reina had been, before. Now she walked anywhere but.

"Two hours," Reina agreed as she turned away.

She boarded her father's boat and the Glaives followed. It was a tighter fit than the trip to Altissia had been—how many years ago, now? Four?—but otherwise the boat was much the same as she remembered.

Everything had been different, that day. She leaned against the rail, more or less where she had stood before. It was hard to believe that the last time she had been aboard, the sun was shining, Ignis could see, Noctis was with them, and the only person anyone called 'Your Majesty' was her father.

The ride was shorter, today. Angelgard was less than twenty minutes out from Galdin and most of that passed in silence or hushed conversation—at least among the others.

Across the water on Angelgard's shore, the boat stopped; Reina climbed out first and the Glaives followed. Most of the island was made of jagged rock, but they weren't natural formations. Nature didn't wear stone in curves like great fingers reaching up from the earth to grasp at passersby. No, this had been made. Not by man, nor daemon, but by something apart.

She could feel the hum of power as soon as they landed. This place was closer to the realm of the Astrals, somehow. Some connection—like the one the ring formed with the crystal—let their power bleed through into the Physical Realm, here, without any other anchor.

No one needed to ask which direction to go. It was pulling them—some formless force, dragging each Glaive along until they reached what could only be called an arena.

Like the center of a crater it stretched, round with pillars of rock jutting around the edges. The boundary was marked, too, by man-made posts cast of brass and hung with banners that should long since have rotted away. Torches burned at the top of stone columns—blue, ever-burning flames left no question as to their origin. This was the magic of Eos and the crystal. This was the magic of the Caelum family.

Most eerie of all was the swords. Just beyond the markers and within the stone bowl, thousands of swords were wedged in the ground. Most were rusted beyond recognition. Some had degraded so much that it was only possible to tell they had once been swords at all due to the context.

This was an ancient place—a holy place, to some—but it was Lucian. She could tell that even without Dreaming. Her curiosity was nearly enough to do so, but—

The earth trembled.

And they came:

The Archaean, rising up from the stone. The Fulgurian, descending from the clouds. The Glacian, sweeping in with the cold breeze. The Hydraean, bursting forth from dark waters. And Bahamut, the Draconian, who dropped from the sky on bladed wings.

Together, the Six—the five, really—made an impressive spectacle.

But they were not corporeal. Their physical forms were gone, save Bahamut, and in truth they were little more the specters in this world.

Though the Glaives recoiled, awe on their faces, Reina took the center of the arena.

"Why hast thou come, O Queen?" His booming voice sounded now in her ears. Perhaps he couldn't manipulate her mind without the connection to the crystal. All the better.

Before, she had only spoken to Bahamut through the crystal. Now she stood before him, dwarfed by his stature, and yet… It was much like the posturing of the Lucii, before she had reformed them to her own will.

"Because you summoned my Glaive, O Dissembler."

"Their hour of reckoning is come. By the Bladekeeper's hand, their fate shall be decided."

The Astrals had summoned the Glaive, not for Noctis' benefit, but for the sake of  _testing_ them? Trial by combat and then what? Absolution from their sins if they lived and… death to the rest of Lucis if they did not? As usual, the arrogance of the Astrals disregarded every mortal life on Eos. They were so many ants to Bahamut.

"No," Reina said. "Their fate is in my hands and their judgment has already been passed. I have no need of your words or your  _reckoning_."

"They shall stand trial for their sins; in the name of the King of Lucis, I shall pardon or condemn them."

As with before, when she had spoken to Bahamut through the crystal, he hardly seemed to acknowledge her words. This time she wasn't walking away. This time she would  _make_ him listen.

" _No_. You do  _not_  speak for the king. The Astrals have no authority in my kingdom. This is  _Lucis_. And you are not Lucian."

"Dost thou thinkest thou know the will of the kings better than I, child of Lucis? Their will is my will, for they art sworn unto me. As art thou."

"I  _am_  the Lucii."

The Armiger sprang to life around her, thirteen spectral weapons at her call. Her feet left the ground and she hung in the air without wings but those granted by the might of her forefathers. Now she was on a level with Bahamut.

"Wouldst thou fight me, child?" Now he saw what she truly was. Now he was listening. Now he was regarding her as something to be considered.

What was it the cosmogony said? At the height of power, the strength of the kings would surpass even that of the gods?

She smiled a mirthless half-smile. They couldn't even see the future. Not really. Perhaps they had a wider vision than most humans but if they could truly See they never would have set loose the Starscourge. They didn't even know when Noctis was going to return. Why else would they summon the Glaive years too early?

"You cannot beat me," she said.

"Thy strength is a gift of the Gods."

"No. It was very much an accident, wasn't it? You never meant for me to be able to Dream. Do you even know why it happened?"

"Thou bears the ring; the mark of our power." He chose not to respond to any of that. It was a little bit like talking to one of those automated recordings that was programmed only to pick up on certain phrases. Except his clumsy attempts to steer the conversation confirmed her guess.

"So I do. Have you a point?"

"The power gifted by the Gods can thus be rescinded."

She laughed. "No. I don't think it can. Not yet, anyway. You made it to accomplish a task and until then it will remain unbroken. You were too short sighted to imagine your pawns might ever have a will of their own."

The pause told her she was correct. So, too, did his change of subject.

"Thou cannot best me in combat."

"Not yet. But soon." She smiled and she knew it wasn't a pleasant smile. "If you wish, we can engage in pointless, endless battle until that time." Ironic. Wasn't that what Ardyn had offered her? "Or you can  _get the hell out of my kingdom_."

Silence, again. What sort of supreme being was so easily caught off-guard? The same sort who accidentally almost exterminated all life on their planet, apparently.

Reina turned, still hanging in the air, and flung her arms wide.

"Look upon your kings, Glaives!"

On either side of her, the dark sky flickered blue. The ring was their anchor and she bore the ring; it bound them to the physical realm and kept them trapped in the In-Between. But with the growing power, they were manifest. They were present; all she had to do was pull them down.

They stared down on Angelgard and the Glaives clustered there: thirteen armored kings wreathed in blue flame. They blotted out even the imposing figure of Bahamut and the Astrals that towered behind him. They were one with her. Bahamut thought their will was his will? She would teach him otherwise; she would be the voice of her family, when so many other generations had been silenced.

"Your debt is to them and no other," she called down to the Glaives. "Carry your sins, for you are traitors and treasoners. Do not forget that. Because we never will. You are condemned to live, to fight, and to struggle against this darkness that  _you_ released upon Lucis. There is no early release for you; no simple way out."

Below, dozens of eyes followed the motion of the Armiger around her and darted from side to side across the armored Lucii. No one spoke. They hardly breathed.

Reina turned back to Bahamut.

"Take your lies and go. You do not command the Glaive. You do not speak for the kings. There is no place for you in Lucis any longer. Know, then, that  _I_ will see my people through to the dawn. And I will do it without the blessing of the Astrals."

Titan, Ramuh, Leviathan, Shiva… all of them were nonphysical—mere echoes from another realm. She could feel them bleeding through from beyond, only manifest in this world because of the location. But the In-Between responded to her magic. To Lucian magic. They peered through the door and she slammed it in their faces.

Titan crumbled into stone. Ramuh became a dissipating storm cloud. Shiva shattered—so much ice melting on the ground. Leviathan was merely a column of water, collapsing back into the sea without support.

Only Bahamut remained. He was real. He was physical.

And he wasn't going to challenge her.

"Thou shalt regret this choice, O Queen of men." His voice boomed in her ears one final time before he spun and took to the skies.

"I doubt that."

Reina lowered to the ground. Around her, the Lucii dissolved, leaving only a hint of magic crackling in the air as a reminder. When her feet hit the earth, the Armiger vanished once more.

"Come." She swept through the crowd of Glaives. It wasn't difficult when they tried not to stand within three feet of her.

They followed, but Libertus questioned:

"Shouldn't we stay behind, Your Highness? Only, the messenger said—"

"You answer to me and that is all. I will not waste resources holding an island for six years."

No one looked at her, after that. They didn't even want to be near her. She stood port side against the railing on her father's ship and everyone else stood starboard and stern. Even Libertus kept his distance.

Not that she wanted the company of traitors, anyway.

It was better this way.

In Galdin, the others were less reserved.

Dino met them at the docks. "What happened out there, Your Highness?"

"A reckoning." Reina brushed passed him without a glance and Ignis fell into step behind her. It may have been a reporter's job—or nature—to question. That didn't mean she was obligated to answer. And she had plenty of practice dodging journalists. In another life.

"But—"

"Some things are not meant to be known. You will excuse Her Highness for making it so," said Ignis.

Reina let out a breath that only he could hear. It wasn't much, but the shield of Ignis standing between her and endless questions did provide some little relief. She shouldn't have let him. He was meant to hate her with the others, but she wasn't that strong.

"Ready to go?" Iris was standing in front of the car, arms folded. She didn't ask any questions; she just opened the door for Reina and took them the hell out of Galdin.


	55. Salvage

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######  _3 July, 760:_

The news coming back from Angelgard wasn't good. Cor had stopped hoping for the best, by then, but even expecting the worst, he hadn't been prepared for… whatever this was.

He hadn't wanted to believe what the Glaives said, but when every one of them told the same story and Reina told no story at all, his places to hide from the truth were becoming increasingly scarce. He listened to them, grimly preparing to give Reina every opportunity to explain herself. Hell, by then, he would have accepted any story she told. He just wanted to believe that she wasn't what everyone said.

But she didn't. She didn't defend her actions. She didn't tell him the Glaives were lying to him. She just stared at him impassively in that terrible, empty way until her silence was enough of an answer by itself. He couldn't keep up this denial. He couldn't keep standing beside her when she drew the Armiger on Bahamut and cast the Gods out of Lucis. All he could do was what she had asked of him last winter: put his faith in Lucis, not in her.

Perhaps that was the last thing Reina had ever said to him—the last request she had made before she let that darkness inside take over.

Reina would never put her trust in Ardyn.

Reina would never consort with daemons.

Reina would never decry the Gods.

And so he was forced to accept the ugly possibility that he had been avoiding for too long:

She wasn't Reina, anymore.

Maybe, as Weskham believed, she  _had_ gone to Ardyn for help. Maybe she had sold her soul for a chance to see Regis one more time. Cor hoped he was wrong. It would mean that if only he had been a better man when she needed one, if only he had been enough, she wouldn't have needed to go chasing ghosts.

It wasn't much consolation, but Cor preferred to believe Ardyn's influence predated Reina's control of the ring.

Who was it who had suggested in the first place that she Dream?

Who had been there every time her Dreams took a turn for the worse?

Who had goaded her on, pushing her to go deeper and try harder?

Cor had  _tried_ , damn it. He had  _tried_ to keep her from following that bastard's advice. Nothing good could come from listening to the devil's whispers. But she had taken the risk, hoping it would save lives.

Regis would have done the same thing.

But no one understood those Dreams except Ardyn. What if all he had done was throw her mind way open and give him a door inside? What if every step she took, every trick she learned, had really just taken her closer to him? And that day in Galdin—when she came back lost and broken—that was the day he cracked her head and stepped inside.

Maybe she never had been Dreaming.

Maybe she had only ever been losing time while someone else controlled her.

Maybe they hadn't been watching Reina's disposition change through various points in her timeline.

Maybe they had been seeing Reina—desperate and crying out for help—and then Ardyn—pushing them all away.

He had won, in the end.

She strode in from the darkness, not even wearing a light. She did that a lot, these days—disappeared into the night and came back with a bag full of Gods-knew-what, except they didn't know either because she had thrown them out of Lucis. No one knew where she went. No one wanted to follow her because no one else was stupid enough to walk out there on their own.

The only other person who had ever done that—if he could be called a person—was Ardyn. The miasma swirled in columns; it blackened the ground to pitch and spectral hands burst out of the earth.

But they didn't reach for her.

Some of the daemons followed, once they had clawed up from below. Some of them just watched her pass. The outer gate opened for her. The daemons stayed outside—or, at least, the ones that had crawled out of the ground stayed outside; she came in.

Cor fell into step beside her. It was difficult to say why he did—why he tried at all—but it was probably desperation and some pathetic, lingering hope that maybe something of her was left inside and if he could just reach her—

_I am sorry, Regis. I swore I would stand by her side. I swore I would keep her safe._

"Where did you go?" He asked, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

She didn't respond. She never had, yet, but he always asked, anyway. Someday he would grow tired of it and just accept that he was never going to find out if she had wandered off into the night to have a polite chat with the daemon king. But why else would she refuse to say?

_But I failed… I couldn't save her from this. I couldn't stop it._

"What did you bring back?"

"We need to rearrange some Glaive patrols. The harvest from Vaullerey is nearly ready to ship. See that they have the escort detail that they require."

Ironic. Once, he had been the one who ignored the questions.

_Three Caelums I have lost, now._

" _Reina_." Cor stopped walking.

She did as well, but only after a few steps and only reluctantly. She glanced at him over her shoulder, as if she wasn't even committed to that much, but felt some sort of obligation to turn when she was called.

"I  _will_ stand by Lucis, since that is what you wanted, but it will mean breaking my promise to you. I cannot do both. Not anymore. I wish I could have saved you from this. But I couldn't."

' _The Immortal,' they call me. As if it was some commendation._

She stared at him for a moment. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking behind those icy eyes.

_Don't they understand?_

"Then break it." She turned around and left him standing in front of the Leville while she veered north toward the power plant.

_A bodyguard should never outlive his charge._

* * *

Some of the council were already waiting when Reina arrived. The rest trickled in soon after while she sat, unmoving as a statue, in the center of the table.

It was high time they sorted out this power problem once and for all. Perhaps she  _could_ have gone on raking in meteorshards in the night while everyone whispered about her strolls through the darkness, but it was inefficient and unnecessary. They needed a permanent solution. One that would allow them to rescind the restrictions placed on power across Lucis and still grow more food, purify more water.

Once everyone was assembled, looking at her the same way they usually did, these days—like they would have preferred to be looking anywhere but—she presented the solution without preamble.

"The meteor itself is still fully active—arguably more active than the pieces we are able to collect in the fields. A suitable workforce dedicated to mining meteorshards will solve our power problem."

Cor crossed his arms over his chest and glared across the table at her. Beside him, Weskham was doing his best to remain neutral in the face of loathing. Sania picked at her gloves, trying not to catch Reina's gaze. Holly sat stock still, as if she hoped she wouldn't be seen if she didn't move. Ignis sat back in his chair, blissfully missing the monster she had become, in his blindness. On her other side, Iris strummed her fingers on the table, a furrow in her brow as if she was the only person in the table actually considering Reina's proposal, rather than her face. Monica looked at Dave. Dave looked at his hands. Cid, refreshingly, looked the same as he always had for six years. Admittedly, that wasn't a positive look. At least he was consistent.

"With all due respect, Your Highness," Weskham said, "The meteor itself is far from any of our settlements; it would be a challenge for a team of Glaives to reach it, let alone a workforce of civilians."

"I do not require any Glaives to keep a workforce safe from the daemons."

Cor looked mutinous at her plan to use Ardyn's  _gift_ to protect civilians. But that was just his face.

"But it is true that a more permanent solution must be forthcoming," Reina continued. "As such, it will be necessary to bring power to the meteor and build an outpost within the perimeter."

"You intend to send people to live  _inside the meteor_?" Cor couldn't last without opening his mouth. When he did, the hyperbole came streaming out.

"Not  _quite_ that close." Though at least they would have been warm. "There are already walls—the remnants of an imperial fort—and the structure looks to be salvageable. We will build a new outpost with that as our foundation. Juggling resources is the biggest problem; we need to mine the shards to power the new outpost, but we need the power to keep the people safe. So  _I_ will go to the disc and remain until construction is complete—or sufficiently safe."

She didn't give them space to argue. They didn't get that privilege in times of disaster.

And if this wasn't a time of disaster, she wasn't sure what was.


	56. Five Words

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######  _16 August, 760:_

They called it Titanfall.

It rose up from the crater like a phoenix from the ashes. Amidst everything else, it was a little bit of new life; it was a little bit of hope.

More people than Reina had expected volunteered to form the founding population; civilians still struggling to find their place in the new world, young hunters looking to prove themselves, and a few Glaives willing (or perhaps eager) to stay in one place for a few months. Stranger, still, they brought their families. They packed up their lives and left the old, safe civilizations behind to forge a new one. And though they watched her warily from afar, she heard their whispers when they thought she couldn't hear:

"Her Majesty will keep us safe."

She didn't try to correct them on either point. People only called her 'Hey Majesty' when her back was turned; that should have gone away with the rest—with the smiles and nods, with the grateful words and adoring gazes. How could they fear her and still believe she would keep them safe?

"Because you are still their queen," Ignis said. "Because, in spite of everything else, you  _have_ kept them safe. And it is still better to stand behind a coeurl than to be lost in the dark while the world teems with daemons."

"So they fear me. Just not as much as they fear the daemons."

Titanfall was a perpetual buzz of activity. It was still little more than a collection of canvas tents and cots, but the people worked hard to change that. Miners worked in shifts, six hours on and off, around the clock so that the incoming flow of meteorshards never ebbed. The builders ran a similar schedule, trekking to and fro, hauling lumber and stone; everyone soon learned to sleep with the ubiquitous pound of hammers and ring of pickaxes. The Glaives and hunters took split shifts, twelve hours at a time, but usually they had little to do.

"Everyone fears the unknown, but not all fears are created equal. They fear the daemons because they value their lives; they fear the Starscourge because they value their humanity. The fear they have for you stems from their hopes for the future. They see you as you present yourself—cold and harsh—and though they may not consciously know, most of them understand this is necessary. This  _world_ is cold and harsh; a gentle monarch could never inspire their confidence. But they have seen you cast out the Gods. They have seen you walk with the daemons. They have seen you speak with the Starscourge. And those things make them fear for the future."

"And you?" Reina asked. "Do you fear me?"

"No."

His response was immediate, definitive—if quiet. How could he hold such certainty? Did his blindness prevent him from seeing what everyone else saw in her?

"To fear you, I would have to hold reservations and I have none." He stood upright, not turning toward her, but facing out toward the bustle of Titanfall. He held his cane in the middle, off the ground. "Every choice you make, everything you do, is for the good of your people. You will protect them throughout the long night and secure for them a bright future with the coming dawn. You have plans for Lucis; you have plans for the future. I only wish you could tell me what they are."

How could he…?

"You are the only one who thinks so," she said.

His fingers brushed hers, then interlaced, squeezing. "That isn't true. Iris understands, as I do. And the others… they only let their frustration at being unable to help get in the way of the truth."

That wasn't true. Not for most of them. Cor hated her; he despised what she had become. It stung to know that he had once thought her father would be proud of her, had once told her he thought of her as a niece. Now he just thought of her as a monster. Maybe he would forgive her when this was all over. Maybe he would understand. Maybe not. She couldn't turn back, either way.

And Iris…

"Iris is disappointed in what I have become. She wanted a sister, but I cannot be that for her."

"Do you think Iris has not changed, as well? We are all what this world has made us—what it demands of us. None will reach the dawn as the same person they were when the sun set. Once, Iris did imagine that being your Shield would be more fun than struggle, but she has grown up. She loves you, still, no matter how frustrating you try to be. And she  _has_ found kinship. She has found her place. Do not convince yourself otherwise."

Reina shook her head. "She shouldn't have had to grow up like this."

Ignis squeezed her hand. "No matter how strong you become, you cannot protect people from change. We must all adapt."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she didn't.

Eventually, Ignis released her hand and pressed his palm between her shoulder blades. "And now, perhaps I might convince you to get some rest? Titanfall will survive a few hours without you."

She let him steer her away, toward their tent on the far side of the camp. Funny. It was usually her doing the steering. But in a few weeks he already knew the layout of Titanfall by heart; Even though it changed daily, even though dozens of people moved across their path, hauling building supplies or carts of meteorshards, Ignis never ran them into anything or crossed another's path and forced a worker to stop. Not once did Reina feel like  _she_ should be leading. That was odd in and of itself.

Their tent was furnished with a low cot and a collapsible writing desk. Everyone else had lost little time turning the temporary housing into homes, unpacking possessions brought from wherever they had lived before and turning a drab space into a bright one. Extraordinary, how humans could somehow find hope in the darkest places. But Reina's tent remained unaccented. Ignis couldn't tell if it was dark and dreary and Reina didn't care. It wouldn't be home, no matter what she did to it.

Nothing would be.

Reina sat down on the edge of the cot as Ignis released her and pulled the tent flaps closed, blocking out the floodlights from the camp until only a sliver of light showed beneath the canvas.

"Are you hungry?" He asked.

"No."

He pushed a squeeze pouch into her hand, anyway. Why did he bother to ask, if he was going to make her eat, anyway?

"I'll cook tomorrow." The stiff mattress hardly moved when he sat down beside her.

Reina twisted the top off the pouch and squeezed it into her mouth as fast as she could manage. It wasn't that the field rations tasted  _bad_ —it was mostly neutral, like unsweetened oatmeal in milk, blended smooth—but they didn't taste good, either. Sometimes nothing did. This, at least, was easier than trying to eat a meal and convince Ignis that she enjoyed it. He always knew when she was lying.

His fingers brushed up her arm. He took the empty pouch from her and mapped her face with his fingertips. A network of webbed scars ran across her face—across her whole body—and he found them, painting them with his touch.

"Power always comes with a price," Ignis said, studying her with his sightless gaze. "I wish you didn't have to pay it."

At least he couldn't see her eyes—so pale blue they were nearly white, bleached by the power of the Lucii.

"You paid it, too." Reina brushed her fingers over his own scars. He didn't wear glasses, anymore.

He smiled, though it was melancholy, "We make quite the pair."

She dropped her gaze. "I'm glad you don't have to see me this way."

It was stupid and selfish. He saw  _nothing_ ; he lived in a world described only by sound and touch and smell. And here she was, feeling grateful that he was blind so that he could always remember her how she had been, before.

"Reina…" He caught her face between his hands, "I do not need to see you to know you are beautiful. Your scars do not change that. They are only a reminder of what you have sacrificed for your kingdom."

"They call me a ghost, when they think I can't hear." She tried to laugh, but it came out a sob. Stupid. What did she care what people thought? She wanted them to think that.

Ignis dragged his thumbs over her eyes, brushing away tears before they fell. "What color are your eyes, now?"

"The color of ice on a frozen lake."

"And what color is mine?"

She met his gaze as it settled as near to her face as he could guess. Once, they had been green. Now one was scarred shut, never to be seen again, and the other was pale from corneal scarring.

Reina reached up to settle her hand on his cheek. "The color of Father's hair."

He smiled—this time more amused than sad—and kissed her.

"Then the only difference is that you  _can_ see me this way. If it hasn't changed your mind, why should it change mine?"

If she could believe that, it made the world a little less dark.

* * *

There were these words that everyone was saying:

"I wish Noctis was here."

At first no one spoke them, because it seemed so obvious, and what could anyone do but nod mutely and go on? Then, one day, all at once, it  _was_ said. Reina had just walked away from the umpteenth attempt to glean  _some_ sort of information from her, and Ignis heard Cor sigh:

"I wish Noctis was here."

Ignis had thought he knew what it meant, then. No one was closer to Reina than her twin; if anyone could tell what she was thinking—understand what she was doing—it would have been him. People said it more and more. Always right after Reina walked away and usually when she was being most difficult. And slowly he began to realize that wasn't what they meant at all. Maybe it had been, at the start, but not anymore.

"I wish Noctis was here."

Because if Noctis was here then Reina wouldn't be.

"I wish Noctis was here."

Because it would have been better to have a brother than an iron queen.

"I wish Noctis was here."

Because he never would have kept so much from them.

"I wish Noctis was here."

Because they wouldn't have to wonder whose side he was on.

Everywhere, he heard it. From her advisers, from her supporters, from the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive, from the people in the streets. How many more were thinking it without speaking?

In Titanfall it was marginally better. As the weeks passed, people seemed to regard her more as a protector and less as an antagonist. The daemons never breached the makeshift walls; no miners fell to attacks. Here, he heard it a little bit less. It was a small blessing.

He would have liked to claim that the worst thing about this was that she knew. But it wasn't. The worst thing about this was that she had done it on purpose.

Who was it that told them—reminded them—when Noct would return? Who was it that watched the sun set for the last time and swore the king would bring it back? Who was it that proclaimed his name like hope incarnate? Who was it that still, after all this time, insisted she wasn't the queen?

And all the while she did little things to curry their disdain. She was subtle about the good things she did and open with the bad. She drove across Lucis in the middle of the night on her own to hold back the dark and daemons in a struggling settlement while EXINERIS repaired power lines, but then she made sure everyone saw her walk out into the horde as if she was one of them. She did the work of three patrols of Kingsglaive instead of sleeping and never told anyone.

"Why do you do this to yourself? Do you truly believe you do not deserve to be loved? Is it your belief that he  _is_ better than you?"

Like most questions, she never answered those.

All she ever said was: "It is better this way."

But it wasn't. When they were all alone and some of her barricade came down, Ignis could hear the quiver in those words.

_It is better this way…_ Like she was still trying to convince herself. Whatever she wanted, this wasn't it and he was the only one who knew that. No matter what he said he couldn't convince her to stop. All he could do was hold her as tears fell and she whispered those five words:

"I wish Noctis was here."


	57. Counteroffer

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######  _August - October, 760:_

As the summer wore on, Titanfall evolved from a mining camp to a fully fledged settlement. A two-story building, partitioned into apartments replaced the row of canvas tents. The remnants of the imperial wall were fortified and completed. A line of lights was run all the way down into the meteor, and a line of rails back up.

For the new settlers, life took on an almost comfortable familiarity—civilians mined in shifts so that someone was always in the disc. They grew accustomed to the constant presence of Glaives—enough that they stopped fearing the dark so much.

From the first shipment of meteorshards out of the disc, Lestallum's power supply skyrocketed and with every subsequent week, as efficiency improved, the shipment size increased. In time for autumn, they were able to lift most restrictions on electricity—which meant the problems with food and fresh water also diminished rapidly.

Life became routine for Reina, as well, even if not entirely comfortable. She had left Iris and Cor in charge in Lestallum, and she received regular word from the city, but in a roundabout way it was easier to accept what she was, out here.

So she was marked. So she was scarred. So she had thrown over the Astrals and given up everything she once believed in. But at least here, standing in the midst of sprouting life and holding back the dark, she could convince herself it was worth it. It wasn't that no one spoke ill of her here—it wasn't that no one shot her covert and suspicious looks when they thought she couldn't see—it was just that it didn't matter.

Back in Lestallum, when the people giving her those looks were Cor and Weskham and Cid and all those people she had worked so hard to earn the respect of, it was so much harder to convince herself that it was worth it.

But she couldn't hide forever.

Titanfall was more or less complete by September. Reina lingered on, finding one thing after another that she could commit herself to, so that she could put off the inevitable. Ignis knew what she was doing, but he never said a word. But eventually word came from Lestallum that she couldn't ignore: Sania's team finally had news regarding their Starscourge vaccine.

She had nothing to pack into her car but a change of clothes and Ignis. Probably, by the time she left, the Titanfall residents were glad to be rid of her. At least they wouldn't have the Ghost Queen hovering around their homes, anymore.

They made the drive back to Lestallum in silence. The daemons didn't impede them and neither Reina nor Ignis were inclined to fill the time with pointless conversation. They arrived in less than two hours—perhaps she had been driving too fast, but what was the point of a sports car if she didn't? It wasn't as if anyone was around to complain. There was no such thing as a speed limit, anymore.

When they pulled into the city, Iris was waiting for them.

"Wasn't sure if you'd make it back in time." She held Reina's door, launching into conversation without greeting. "Everyone else is already here."

Reina stepped out of her car and made straight for the Leville. "Let's go."

Iris shrugged and fell into step just behind her, along with Ignis.

"You have been keeping busy, then?" Ignis asked.

"Oh sure," Iris said. "Way more time for killing daemons when I'm not trying to keep Her Highness out of trouble all the time. What with the way attacks have been getting rarer, I put together some hunters to bring the fight to them."

"Indeed? I had not realized you were all so pressed for combat opportunities."

"Aren't you?"

"Certainly," said Ignis. "But I rather assumed that was Reina's doing."

"Who said it wasn't?" Iris asked.

A pause, perhaps because they were both trying to decide whether or not to attempt drawing Reina into the conversation, or continuing as if she wasn't present. They reached the Leville steps.

"Did your reach cover Lestallum while we were at the Disc, Reina?" Ignis asked, at last.

"No." She climbed the stairs without turning around.

Iris skipped ahead of her, yanking the door open and holding it for both of them. "It's probably still you."

Reina spared her only a passing glance as she entered the hotel.

"I mean, if Ardyn controls the  _all_ the daemons, then maybe he's not attacking because of Rei. Cause he likes you?" Iris let the door swing shut behind her once Ignis had entered and she jogged ahead to catch up with Reina again. "That's why you're doing it, right? If you make nice with the bad guys then they stop hurting you."

This time Reina didn't even give her a glance. Let her believe what she wanted. It made for a better story. Though perhaps she should have told them the truth. Then—if they knew her motivations were nothing so selfless, if they knew she had fallen into a peculiar sort of friendship with a cursed man because she saw herself in him, if they knew she only went to him because she wanted to, now—they would stop following her.

She pulled the council room door open. The conversation inside died as they entered—the whole table was full, but the three chairs for them—and everyone was looking at her.

How much whiter were her eyes than they had been three months ago? How much more stark were her scars? They stared at her like she was a monster.

And she was, wasn't she?

She took her seat without looking at any of them.

"Let us begin." She motioned to Sania.

"Ah—yes. Of course. Your Highness." Sania cleared her throat and began. "Well, the increased influx of power from the plant has allowed us to continue chromatographic separation and ultrafiltration of the pathogen at an accelerated pace. We encountered a few snags while searching for a suitable adjuvant, but I am pleased to announce, as of last night, that the live attenuated vaccine is prepared for the next stage of development."

Silence, as usually followed Sania's first explanation, filled the council room.

Finally, Cor broke it: "In understandable terms?"

Sania shot him an exasperated look, as she usually did when anyone asked for clarification.

"We have a preliminary version of the inoculation, which—with your approval—we will begin human testing with as soon as possible," she spoke more slowly, as if concerned that the rate had been the problem in the first place.

"What does that entail?" Reina asked.

"We will need a test group—adult volunteers of good health—to be inoculated and exposed to the Starscourge under controlled conditions."

Reina glanced down the table. "Objections to granting Dr Yeagre leave to recruit volunteers?"

None.

"Very well. Do so; keep us updated."

Council dragged on, following. Some little discussion about how and who to accept as volunteers occurred, followed by an extended update on all the matters that Reina had only been distantly involved in during her time in Titanfall: water and power rationing had to be recalculated, and, with those restrictions lifted came new talk of growing more food to scale back  _that_ rationing, as well. Everyone was in agreement on that. What they  _couldn't_ agree on was where to build the new farms—every outpost wanted to be the first.

It took a full two hours of back and forth before an order of operations was decided. They could increase their full food growth by thirty percent if every outpost was granted an additional hot house, but it would take the better part of the year to see them all built. Not to mention, it opened up concerns about building materials.

And so  _that_ went on for the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon. If Reina hadn't already been conditioned—through a lifetime of sitting on her father's council—to moderating circular discussion for hours at a time, she might well have walked out. As it was, when council finally dispersed, Reina left with a renewed distaste for ever becoming queen.

She left Ignis to catch up with the others—whatever he might have said while she was in earshot, he did miss having company besides her—and sought solitude on the outskirts of the city. The wall that wrapped around Lestallum cut off the lower section of the outer city—what had once been a parking lot and an overlook was now empty and crumbling from disuse, taken over by the darkness.

But the darkness didn't bother Reina, anymore. Indeed, she almost preferred it. She warped up and over the wall and stood outside the city limits looking out over the distant glow of the meteor. When she was out there, in the darkness, no one would come looking for her. No one was around to avert their gaze when she walked past. It was just her and the daemons who came to keep her company.

And the crimson thread that wrapped around her soul and tugged toward the In-Between.

" _Little Dreamer…"_

At first she couldn't tell whether Ardyn's voice was in her head or in her ears. But the miasma swirled, thickening and solidifying into a man. And she heard him clearly, next—humming her name as if it was a tune.

"Little Dreamer…."

"You're not supposed to be here," she said.

"Oh, come now. Are you going to throw me out?" He took one step toward her—slow and leisurely, just daring her to try.

"No."

Of course not. He was the only person she could even be honest with, anymore.

"No," he repeated. He took another step, and another, until he stood beside her.

"Ah,  _Lucis_. Look upon your kingdom, Majesty!" He swept his hand out, gesturing to the darkened land before them.

"Don't call me that."

Ardyn smiled. "Oh, but of course. You prefer 'little Dreamer,' don't you?"

She didn't respond because he already knew she did. Maybe he had once meant it as mocking—a reminder of how small and inexperienced she was in this great big world, not even knowing her own power—but now it was something else entirely. Now it was a mark against the Astrals—'Dreamer,' because they never meant her to have that and she  _did_ , she embraced it for all she was worth; she held onto it until it was the only thing left to define her.

He laughed—darkness rolling over her like the miasma itself—so tangible she might have wrapped up in it. It shouldn't have been comfortable.

Neither should the darkness.

"Little Dreamer." He stepped behind her, grasping her shoulders and leaning forward so his cheek pressed against his. She flinched at the sudden contact—surprised, but not repulsed. She didn't try to pull away. "Still won't take the crown after all these years.'Not while my brother draws breath'."

He took her own words and pushed them under her nose.

"What will you do when he's no longer here to hide behind?" Ardyn asked.

"Abdicate," she said, because it was the same thing she told herself every time.

He laughed. "No. You never would. Nor will you take the one thing you truly want."

He held out his hand and his blade materialized. He straightened suddenly, pulling her back against him and pressing his blade to her throat until she could feel her pulse against cold steel.

"When Noct is gone and Daddy-dearest is laid to rest… you won't even be able to join them. You're too good for that, aren't you, little Dreamer? Too  _true_. To leave your people all alone, picking up the pieces and trying to fit them back together all on their own… it would never do."

Reina shut her eyes to block out the tears. She only succeeded in forcing them to fall. The worst thing about being understood by Ardyn was that he understood  _everything_.

"Stop," she whispered.

His blade vanished. His hands were back on her shoulders.

"And worst of all… when you take the throne—as you know you must—it will be  _exactly_ what They planned for you."

"There's nothing else I can do." She shook her head.

" _Of course there is_ , little Dreamer." He cheek was against hers, again, his voice just a whisper in her ear. "Did you think I came here just to taunt you?"

She opened her eyes, turning to look at him. Hadn't he?

"You wound me, little Dreamer. Here I thought we were  _friends_. Don't you trust me?"

That was a loaded question if ever she heard one. And yet… for all his games, for all his mockery and his sarcasm…

Had he ever lied to her?

"I must be as mad as you for even considering that," she said.

He laughed. "Oh, we are well past madness, by now, little Dreamer. Our fates are bound, now.  _You_ threw over the Gods; there's no going back from that."

So she had.

So there wasn't.

"Now then." He straightened, releasing her without warning. She nearly stumbled, though he hadn't been supporting her. "We  _should_ leave Lucis in the family. It wouldn't be right, giving it away to the untrained masses. And if not you—" She blinked and he was in front of her, bending over to put himself nose-to-nose with her.

He was going to kiss her.

Just a stray observation, crossing her mind with the way his gaze flicked over her face.

Reina shook her head. Where the hell had that thought come from? Why would  _Ardyn_  try to kiss her? They were temporary allies at best. Weren't they? And besides, whatever had once resided in his chest had long since rotted away with hate. Whatever was left wasn't capable of affection or care for anyone.

"—I can take it."

She could only stare at him for a long time. Ardyn? Ardyn on the throne? How was that better than leaving Lucis to its own devices?

Except, Ardyn  _had_ been on the throne, before, her mind whispered. And he had been a good king.

He was also the Starscourge incarnate and Noctis was meant to destroy him.

"You're not supposed to live," she said.

Ardyn tsked and straightened. "Still so dogmatic! And here I thought I had taught you better than that. Who was it that ordered my destruction?"

The Astrals.

She didn't say it, but he smiled anyway, as if he knew she had thought it.

"And who was it that ordered your brother to sacrifice his life to end mine?"

"The Astrals…"

His smile stretched. "Don't you think it's time to consider…

"...what would happen…

"...if Noct didn't kill me…

"…?"

What happened if Noct didn't kill him.

What happened if Noct didn't kill him?

She shut her eyes, his words echoing in her mind. He didn't speak again. He just stood there, watching her, waiting until she opened her eyes again and said:

"Yes. It is time."


	58. The Dreamers

__

######  _13 October, 760:_

Before, it had seemed perverse to avoid the throne merely because the Astrals had meant for her to hold it. Now it held tantalizing possibilities.

What if Noctis didn't kill Ardyn?

She made plans quietly on her own. Better that none of the others learn until it was too late to change. They would only try to stop her.

She slipped frequently into the In-Between to meet with Ardyn. As much as she tried to claim it was really for some greater good, it was difficult to lie to herself. She enjoyed his company. Of all the ironies the night brought, this was the greatest: that the man standing at the heart of the darkness was the brightest spot in all of it. He understood. He understood her and everything she did—everything she knew. He  _saw_ her for what she was, rather than what he wished her to be. And in spite of all of that, in spite of everything he knew, he could still smile.

Not to mention, he still held countless truths she had yet to uncover. Recently, he seemed more forthcoming with them.

"Do you Dream?" She asked him.

It was Ardyn who had shaped the In-Between around them, tonight. He put them in Insomnia as it was now, outside near the top of the Citadel and looking out on the darkened city. This was the same balcony she and Noctis used to retreat to when they needed a quiet moment. It had been nearly the only place they could ever be alone, back then. Now they always were.

"I dream of a world in which perpetual night has fallen, a world where all the Gods are dead and forced to watch from afar as Eos rots from the inside out while their Chosen falls." Ardyn swept his arm wide, gesturing to the lifeless city around them. He stopped mid-motion. "Oh wait."

"You know what I meant." Reina leaned against the railing, not even glancing at him.

"Do I see the future?"

She nodded.

"Not as you do, no."

"How do you know about the Dreams, then?"

"Because I know what they  _are_ , little Dreamer." He leaned forward toward her until his nose nearly brushed her cheek. "Haven't you figured it out, yet?"

Reina shook her head, looking at him from the side of her eye but not turning her head. Insomnia was haunting, when it was dead like this.

"Tsk. Tsk. Do  _try_ to use that little brain." He flicked a strand of her hair back and straightened, inspecting his nails. "I'll even give you a hint: what is it you can do— _we_ can do, really—that no one else, alive or dead, is capable of?"

The answer, so far as she could see, was 'Dream.' Presumably that wasn't what he was asking, since he was meant to be telling her  _how_ she Dreamed. And he included himself. What could she do that he could, too? But no one else?

"Control the daemons?"

" _Aside_ from that."

Her magic wasn't hers, so it wasn't that. Besides, the Lucii and every other Caelum had that. But she and Ardyn had something else, didn't they? He spoke in her mind. No one else could do that. And she could find him whenever she wanted—all she had to do was close her eyes and drop into the In-Between. She had never heard of anyone else traveling between realms like that.

"We can visit the In-Between."

"Brava, little Dreamer, brava." He applauded. "Perhaps you couldn't, when first we met, but now you move in and out of the physical world as simply as breathing. So. What do you know about this realm?"

"It's in between the realm of the living and the dead. It is where ghosts are trapped, where the Lucii are chained."

"True, but not useful. What else?"

Reina wracked her brain. "I can… change it. Form it. Manipulate it—just by thinking. No one else seems to be able to, except for you."

"Those things are related, yes. Aaand…?"

Reina's brow furrowed. She pulled her eyes from the city and turned to look at him, leaning sideways against the balcony rail. What else did she know? What else could she gather from what she had seen and done in the past few years?

"It's…  _outside_ of the physical world. When I tear open the veil with the ring, the In-Between is where it empties into. Living things can't survive there."

"Warmer,  _warmer_."

He could just have told her, but he was never going to if she didn't play along with his game. Everything was about entertainment for him. In a way, she understood that. Two thousand years alone was a long time to be bored.

But she didn't know  _anything_ else about the In-Between.

She shook her head.

Ardyn tsked again. "What do you  _see_ … when you're outside… or  _above_?"

Above…? Above the world? No, above the physical. Outside of space and…

And outside of time.

When she was in the In-Between, time didn't flow the same. She could spend an hour sitting with her father and return to find that only a second had passed for everyone else. Her Dreams were like that, too.

"From… the In-Between… I can see through space  _and_ time?"

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Congratulations, princess, you've won a lifetime supply of existential angst and the ability to see more than you ever wanted."

"But if time is visible from the In-Between… why can't you see the future?"

"I didn't say I couldn't see the future. I merely said I could not see it  _like you do_. Recall: what do your kings see when they look at Lucis?" Ardyn walked the length of the narrow balcony, lining one step up directly in front of the last, as if walking a tightrope.

"Father says it looks faraway… he can't see detail, but big things he can perceive."

"Indeed. They see Eos on the large scale—big things, big events." He paced, each step peculiar and precise. "They see some range of time, some range of space, but all of it from afar. They cannot experience it up close. I see the same, with the important difference of being able to experience  _this_ time. I have a body… of sorts… and it confines my experiences. But you…" He stopped moving just as he passed her, turning about and hooking a finger under her chin. "You are  _special_."

She didn't move a muscle. "Why?"

"The one hundred fourteenth generation. For over two thousand years, the magic of the Caelum bloodline has been passed down, distilled, strengthened—all that inbreeding at the start didn't hurt, either. It wasn't  _all_ from the Astrals, you know. We have something without them. And after all this time, it has reached purity… precision… in the form of a little girl who can slip seamlessly between worlds and walk through time and space.  _That_  is what you are." He squeezed her chin firmly enough to leave the white marks of his fingers on her skin when he let go, but she didn't flinch or pull away.

"Why not Noctis?"

Ardyn straightened, releasing her. He waved a hand, as if to brush away her question. "Oh, Brother-dear could do much the same, I don't wonder. But he never tried, did he?"

In spite of her resolution not to, Reina rubbed her chin where he had gripped her. "Neither did I, before I met you. But I still Dreamed."

"A peculiarity, to be certain, but I daresay we could easily attribute that to your obvious personal differences. Can you think of no reason why a young Reina might be compelled to see the future while a young Noctis would not?"

She had been eight, the first time she Dreamed. It was in Tenebrae, and the screams and roar of fire had haunted her regular dreams for months after. But Father had once mentioned that she seemed to know—before Tenebrae—that something bad was going to happen to Noctis. He said she'd asked Noct not to go, that day when the daemon attacked.

"I… wanted to protect Noctis." And after that, in Tenebrae? "And then my family. And Ravus' family."

"So there you have it. An empathetic princess, motivated by fear and  _love_. What better catalyst could you ask for?"

"But I didn't Dream when it mattered." She looked back out across Insomnia. If she had… if she could have controlled it earlier, then none of this would have happened. Her father would still be alive. Noctis would still be here. Insomnia wouldn't be a hollowed out shell of its former self.

And neither would she.

"Yes…" Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ardyn giving her a peculiar look. Then it vanished. "And you shouldn't accidentally Dream while waking, either. So it seems I do  _not_ have all the answers."

He stepped up beside her when she fell silent. A glance told her he was looking at the city, as well. Somehow, she didn't think he was mourning its destruction.

For a moment, both of them were silent. She tried not to dwell on regrets and past failures, but it was difficult not to in the face of all this death.

"If I can walk through time, why can't I change the past?"

"I suspect because you, too, have a body. While you might be able to step outside of it, it still exists at one point in time—at one place. If you eliminated that point in time it would be much the same as if you eliminated that place. Can you imagine what might happen if you reached out from the In-Between… and crushed Lucis?"

"Everyone would die."

"That seems a reasonable conclusion to draw."

Reina fell silent again. What good was this power if she couldn't protect the two things she loved more than anything else in all of time and space?

This time, it was Ardyn who broke it.

"Come along, now, little Dreamer. I have something to show you."

He reached out, taking hold of her soul more than her hand. The false-city dissolved around them until nothing but the In-Between remained, and he drew her out, through the veil to the physical world. Then they stood in the Citadel in its true form. Or, more accurately, Ardyn stood in the Citadel, but Reina was manifest as little more than an echo.

"Come now, you can do better than that," he said.

She focused, trying to make her mind remember what it felt like to be attached to a body. That was surprisingly difficult. But she  _did_ appear—after a fashion; visible but intangible.

"Just a little further…" Ardyn watched with rapt attention.

She pushed more, drawing the strands of the world up and weaving them around herself until she was whole and solid. When she blinked, looking up at him through physical eyes, he was looking at her as if he had never quite seen her before.

And he was smiling. "Well, well, well. You  _are_ full of surprises."

Reina ran her hands down the front of her shirt. "Am I really here?"

"' _Really'_? What does  _reality_ mean for a little girl who can walk through time and bend the earth to her will?"

She didn't know what answer to give to that, so she gave none. Ardyn only laughed and turned away, leading down the hall without waiting to see if she would follow. She did—curious, but not asking why. He wouldn't tell her until he was ready.

They were at the top of the Citadel—or very nearly. Now, Ardyn took her up. She followed him to the halls that had once been closed off—all but forbidden to any except members of the royal family, a handful of high ranking Crownsguards, and hers and Father's closest attendants. In all the years since the Fall, in all the times she had been to Insomnia since, she had never been back in those halls.

She followed Ardyn, though her feet felt heavier with every step. She knew without knowing that he was taking her to the end of the hall—the farthest collection of rooms, where she had slept nearly every night for months, if not years, before leaving.

"After you." Ardyn stopped outside the doors to the king's chambers and motioned.

Reina didn't move.

"I swear to you, Ardyn, if this is some sick joke—"

"You  _wound_ me, little Dreamer. I would  _never_."

He would have.

"Open the door," he said.

Against her better judgement, she pushed it open.

Lights flickered inside. She had expected to find it derelict—as ruined and tattered as the rest of the Citadel after being subjected to Ardyn's  _redecoration_ efforts. But it wasn't. It was just like she remembered, just like she pulled it from her memories and formed it in the In-Between. The black leather wingback armchairs sat in the middle of the central room, the ebony coffee table between them clean and polished. A fire cracked in the hearth. All of Father's possessions were untouched—unspoiled. The bookshelf was still full and neatly organized, accented by little trinkets—the clay figurine of a lopsided cactuar that Noctis had given him twenty years ago, a little music box that a very young Reina had brought back from the mall one time, a framed picture of all three of them smiling brightly.

Her feet took her to the right, through the open doors to her father's bedroom along the same path she had walked countless times before when she sought him out. Half of her expected to find him waiting for her.

He wasn't.

She clutched the ring of the Lucii to her chest and entered. The fire was lit here, as well. The bed was made, the floors were clean, and the glass wall in the back was intact. But here he  _had_ made changes.

Above the bed hung a portrait; her father, austere and magnificent, looked down upon them from the canvas. Beneath it was a gold plaque, inlaid with the message:  _In Memoriam Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII._  The bed was laid with flowers—black and white blossoms, intermixed and arranged to cascade across the pillows and down.

"Why…?" Reina's voice caught. Her nose stung. She clenched her jaw to keep the tears from falling and clutched the ring more tightly to her chest. "Why did you do all this?"

Ardyn was right behind her. He grasped her shoulders and leaned forward to press his cheek against hers. She didn't pull away.

"I made it for you… little Dreamer."

Once, that same voice had disgusted her—sent her recoiling. Now it was just velvet.

"How—?" She shut her eyes and a tear escaped down her cheek.

"I can make most anything I like, even in this world." He was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.

She opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Father's portrait. "Can you bring him back?"

If she had looked, she would have seen the grin that twisted across Ardyn's face.

But she didn't look.

"Were he simply dead, the answer would be no. One needs a soul to occupy a body…. But it just so happens that you have one."

Reina clenched her hand around the ring, still staring at her father's face.

She shut her eyes again. "What must I do?"

"Ah… well, if you were to pull him from the web of kings, the power of the ring would decrease." He was drawing closer, still, his breath hot against her ear, now, and his voice dropping with each syllable. "And you  _know_ how disappointing that would be, for me."

"You still mean to fight Noctis?"

"I must, little Dreamer. The covenants bind the Gods to him. While he yet lives—though their earthly manifestations have been destroyed—they will always return. If we wish Eos to ever truly be free of them… Noctis must die." His lips brushed her ear. He was that close, but still she didn't pull away, didn't lean back. "Wait with me, just a few more years. And if, at the end, I survive Noctis… I promise to bring your father back to you."


	59. Unveiled Threats

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######  _30 October, 760:_

If he had believed in fate, he might have said it was predestined; the Dreamer and the Sage. Except they didn't call him that, anymore. Accursed didn't have quite the same ring to it. The Dreamer and the Destroyer, then. Both of them disconnected. Both of them lost and then found. In all of Eos, they were the only two who knew the truth. The only two who understood:

The Gods had to be destroyed.

They had to be beaten and sent slithering back into non-existence—that same state they would send  _him_ into. But he would beat their  _Chosen King_. He would overcome all the power of the ages. By himself…

...or with her.

She knew it had to be done. She wasn't ready to admit it, yet, but she knew: her brother had to die. Once he was gone, they would live forever.

Ah. King and Queen.

Only one obstacle stood between them.

Not for long.

* * *

In the midst of a ten-year night, civilization was just learning to walk without sunlight again. Lights stretched across Lucis in a spindly web, spreading from Lestallum out and bringing power to the kingdom. Every outpost had become a town, of sorts—an enclosed community that could be shut off behind solid walls to protect it from daemons—and each community contributed to the whole. Hammerhead was the main hub for training and stationing hunters; Caem had become home to all of Lucis' chocobos; Titanfall was bringing in a steady stream of meteorshards every day.

The lights made food possible—without electricity from Lestallum, the greenhouses that grew the vast majority of their food would have been impossible. Most animals were tainted, by now, making hunting impossible. Furthermore, most of the canned food left over from pre-dusk days had been long since finished off.

And now Cor wanted to waste resources taking a city that Ardyn was never going to release.

"We must retake Insomnia, Your Highness." He held his fists clenched against the council table, leaning forward to glare at her. That was how he most often looked at her, these days. She had spent a long time trying not to let that bother her. When that failed, she resorted to not letting it show.

"For what purpose?" She asked

"To prepare for the king's return."

"Are you afraid Noctis won't be able to handle a few daemons, once he emerges with the amassed power of two thousand years of Caelums?"

A muscle along his jaw twitched when he was angry. That was the only tell, given that he always looked angry. She had preferred the days when he was worried about her, but this was the way it had to be, now. It was better, this way.

"There are more than daemons inside."

Indeed. There was a man—if he could be called that—who  _also_ had two thousand years worth of power.

"If you believe yourself capable of taking on Ardyn, by all means, do so. But leave the Glaive out of it; they are needed elsewhere."

The twitch was because he clenched his jaw; she could see the tensing muscles even from across the table.

"I meant the MTs. Or have you made friends with  _them_ , too?"

She didn't bother dignifying that with a response. Technically, they  _were_ daemons. In a twisted sort of way. Then again, what about the daemons wasn't twisted? Humans, twisted by a curse the Astrals had inflicted upon their far-removed ancestors for a sin they didn't even remember.

"If you want the MTs gone, I will eliminate them, myself."

"Forgive me if—"

She never got the chance to forgive him. The door to the conference room burst open to reveal a Glaive.

"Your Majesty—!"

"— _Highness_ —" Reina corrected automatically.

"—Daemons are amassing outside the city. Hundreds of them. They're heading straight for us."

Cor gave her a look that so  _clearly_ said 'I told you so' that, later, she remembered him actually saying it. Reina's brow furrowed. They shouldn't have been able to get so close. They certainly shouldn't have been so organized. Unless—

She followed the strand of red energy and found it short. Ardyn was close. He didn't usually bring an army, though.

" _Now_ will you believe me when I say he is not to be trusted?" Cor asked.

Reina didn't dignify  _that_ with a response, either. She rose to her feet and followed the Glaive out of the Leville and up the stairs to the top of the outer wall. By then she could feel the ties to each of the daemons. 'Hundreds' was not an exaggeration. They were all thralls—usually her connection to them ended in a flexible anchor that she could pull or push, mold to her will. These ones were solid and immovable. They were under Ardyn's control.

She leaned forward against the parapet and waited. Ignis stood to her right; a moment later, they were joined by Cor and Iris. While Iris mirrored Reina, Cor glanced between them, the movement at the edge of the floodlights, and the Glaives who clustered behind. He was nervous because he didn't trust her.

"Libertus." Cor motioned. "Summon the Glaive—all those still in Lestallum—the hunters, everyone."

"I did not give that order, Cor." Reina didn't turn around.

"Your lack of action is what prompted  _my_ action."

She  _did_ turn around, then, straightening to face him fully. "Your action is insubordination. If you cannot stand at my side and follow my orders, you will not stand at my side at all."

There was that muscle at his jaw, again; the perpetual furrow on his brow deepened. A part of her screamed to reach out to him instead of pushing him away. He would understand, the little voice said; he wouldn't hate her anymore. But she couldn't afford herself that weakness.

It was better this way.

Eventually Cor dropped his gaze. Reina turned back around as the movement resolved into daemonic shapes. At the head of the horde was Ardyn. Smiling.

"Little Dreamer…" He strung out the syllables and turned them into a song. "There you are, little Dreamer."

The daemons crawled into the light after him. They hissed and recoiled, but he dragged them forward, heedless.

"Ardyn. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You haven't been visiting, little Dreamer. I'm beginning to think you don't like me anymore." He stopped and the daemons stopped. He looked up at the wall, head tilted to one side, and the daemons looked up as well.

"A social visit? You might have called, at least. I haven't even done my hair."

He laughed—a rolling chuckle like black coffee and bitter chocolate.

"Next time, little Dreamer. Tonight I  _do_ have some business. It's all for you, you know."

"And what might that be?" She asked.

He didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked along the wall, looking past the lights and studying each of her companions.

"Tell me, little Dreamer…" He held out his hands and she felt the tug of the strands of magic. The daemons felt it, too; they shifted and chattered. "How attached are you to the blind one?"

That didn't bode well.

Behind the parapet, Ignis' fingers brushed her back. She dropped her hand and took his, glancing at him sideways.

"I love him," said Reina.

"Tsk.  _Love_. I could give you so much more, if you let me," Ardyn said.

He could…

What?

" _When_ you let me," he corrected himself. "When all your ties are… cut."

He barely moved his fingers, but she could feel the pull of his magic. A hundred daemons—two hundred daemons—surged forward as one.

"So glad your  _pride_ is more important to you than the safety of this city," Cor hissed at her. "Will you  _listen to me_ , now?"

She ignored him. That was the only thing she could do with him, these days, if she wished to keep her sanity.

She couldn't get a hold on the daemons; even as they dug claws into the stone and clambered for the top, piling one on top of the other to breach Lestallum's outer wall, her magic slid off of them without finding purchase. Ardyn had control of them. And her magic was just his, on loan.

At least,  _that_ part was.

Reina threw out her hand; the Ring of the Lucii flared to life and power surged through her.

It  _hurt_. It hurt like every other time before, pouring through her body like molten steel, cracking open her skin and showing through her eyes. But that was the price she paid to hold the world in her hands and shape it to her will.

She was outside of Lestallum—outside of Eos—outside of time. She watched the daemons leap and then, after, they leapt. The power of the Lucii cradled the city; a shimmering shield formed at the top of the wall and each daemon that reached it was repelled.

It was easy, from outside. It was easy to lift her body to the top of the parapet and step in front of Ignis—because Ignis was the only person they were interested in. It was easy to see where they would land and make sure her naginata was there to greet them. It was easy to send lightning crackling along the outside of the shield, fire dancing down the wall, ice creeping across the ground. And when—power burning in her veins, eyes blinded with blue-white light, mind screaming, soul crying—it all became too much, it was easy to reach out and take them.

Daemons had been humans once, after all.

They still held that spark of life, the fuel that the ring fed off of. Ardyn couldn't stop her from taking that; maybe she couldn't control them, but she could grasp that line of life and  _pull_ until it broke free and ran in  _her_ veins, instead.

It made the pain less. A little bit.

"Damn it, Rei! You're not alone up here, you know!" Iris climbed onto the wall beside her, blade in hand.

She hadn't forgotten about the others. Indeed, she was hyper aware of Ignis' presence at her back—tense, waiting, daggers out. But they needed to know that she could neutralize any threat. Herself. Without casualty. This was, after all, her fault. Her fight. How could she stand there and ask a Glaive to put his life on the line because she had gotten too close with the Starscourge incarnate? How could she ask Iris?

"This is not your fight, Iris."

A daemon dropped over the top of the shield. Iris ran it through before Reina had the chance.

"Your fights  _are_ my fights. Haven't you figured that out, yet?"

Reina glanced at her. The glow of her arcana faded enough to actually  _see_ Iris and that look on her face—not unlike the look Clarus used to give Father. The thought surprised her enough that her hold on the ring slipped. The barrier remained, the elemancy remained, but the cracks in her skin mended into scars—some fresh—and the glow of her eyes faded to lightless ice-blue.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm your Shield, alright?"

Reina gave a tight nod because she couldn't immediately think of any words to say. Then: "Together?"

"Together."

The shield evaporated, magic dissipating, and Reina vaulted over the wall to the ground below with Iris only a scant half-second behind her. Ignis followed; the daemons followed him.

That was one way to remove the threat to Lestallum.

Cor stayed atop the wall with the Glaives. Reina didn't need to look back to know the look he wore—it was hatred. And not for the daemons.

On the ground, she had no time to worry about Cor or feel sorry for herself. She barely would have had time to swing her naginata around to slice down the daemons that leapt for Ignis, but she had ways around that restriction. Time was just another dimension. Just another space to look across and anticipate coming events. She never let a daemon through because she  _knew_ where they would be.

Ignis pressed to her back. She knew where he would be, as well—every second, every minute, for every motion. That let her pull him out of danger when it drew to close or send an imp flying straight into his blade. It also meant he was always where she needed him to be—always where she reached.

Reina pressed him between herself and Iris, as well as she was able; that way half the daemons were forced to cross paths with her blade or Iris' to reach their Ignis. Once he was off the wall, they abandoned Lestallum as if it had gone invisible. They streamed past Reina and Iris—only defending, never attacking—on their way to Ignis.

"You're not playing fair, little Dreamer." Ardyn was still standing at the edge of the fight—massacre that it was. "It's meant to be just the two of us. A battle for the prize. By all means, stand by and look magnificent until we are through, but don't interfere."

"Just you, Ignis, and a daemon army?" Not exactly a one-on-one duel to the death.

She had just enough time between daemons, as she threw up a shield around Ignis, to see the smile that twisted across Ardyn's face.

"Would you prefer I take him on personally? I am happy to oblige."

 _Also_  not exactly a fair fight.

"I'm not going to let you kill him, Ardyn." Reina clamped down on the shield until it was a solid bubble, blocking Ignis from his assailants. Daemons crowded around, clawing pointlessly across the smooth surface of her magic before lightning cracked through their ranks leaving an evaporating cloud of miasma. More daemons came to replace the fallen.

"I do this for you, little Dreamer. I could give you everything…"

What was he playing at? Yes, perhaps they had an understanding of sorts, perhaps she felt she could be herself with him in a way she couldn't with anyone else, and perhaps he saw in her a kindred spirit, but…

But that was it, wasn't it? Maybe he  _had_ just been trying to manipulate her, before, but if he had actually begun to believe the things he told her—that they were the same, that they understood each other like no one else did—then he might feel something like to kinship for her. And what must  _one_ kindred spirit have looked like, amidst two-thousand years of being alone? A blinding light in a sea of night; a moth and a flame.

He had been on the edge of the floodlights, thirty feet away. Then he wasn't. Then he was behind her. Every daemon around them froze as if time had stopped while he leaned forward and set his hands on her shoulders to whisper in her ear: "Don't you want to be free?"

"Is that what you think this is?" She tightened her grip on her naginata, watching the daemons rather than Ardyn.

Of course he did. Everything he chose had some sort of twisted justification in his mind—some of it was trivial. Some of it was catastrophic.

"You don't owe them anything." He traced the outline of her ear with his lips.

"Reina—" Inside her shield, Ignis pressed bare palms against smooth magic. He didn't need to see to guess what was going on.

She pulled away from Ardyn, turning to put her naginata between them. He lifted his hands. And he smiled.

"Now, now, little Dreamer. There's no need for hostility."

"I  _don't_ want you to kill Ignis." If this was the game they were playing, now, she would just have to learn the new rules. "I want you to walk away and leave him alone."

His smile didn't fade, but his eyes did flick over her face as if—in spite of the patchwork of scars, in spite of her colorless eyes—she was the most appealing thing he had ever seen.

"You can't have us both, little Dreamer."

He saved her the trouble of trying to tell him that she didn't  _want_ both of them when he stepped back, dissolving into miasma. The daemons followed, evaporating into the night and leaving the outside of Lestallum empty save for three humans. Or two humans and Reina.

If he had stayed, she would have told him she only wanted Ignis.

She would have told him.

She would have.


	60. At Odds

######  _30 October, 760:_

"Well. That was weird."

Somewhere in between Queen's Shield and Daemon Hunter, Iris had become a master of understatement.

"Reina?" Ignis said.

She turned around, tearing her eyes from the spot where Ardyn had disappeared. Ignis was still inside the shield she had woven for him. She banished it with a thought.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Fine." Lying was easy when it was everything she was. Had become. "Did they hurt you?"

She already knew that nothing had gotten through to him; she asked just to ask. And to put the conversation back on a track she was comfortable with.

"No." He stepped forward, reaching out for her. She caught his hand and held on.

"Soo… how long has your two-thousand year old, daemonic ancestor been wanting to jump your bones, Rei?"

Also somewhere in between Queen's Shield and Daemon Hunter, Iris had discarded that little voice that said 'maybe you shouldn't say this.' It was the age of disregarding little voices. Reina could appreciate that.

"No idea." She turned toward Lestallum, drawing Ignis along with her.

"Are we not gonna talk about this?" Iris fell into step beside them. "I think we should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. I just need to think."

Think. Think about what? Think about the fact that her one-hundred-times-removed great uncle was suddenly threatening Ignis because 'he could do better'?

The gates opened for them. Cor was, predictably, on the other side. He was also (predictably) irate.

"What the  _hell was that_?"

For once she stopped and looked up at him. It hadn't been so long ago that he had wanted her to think of him as an uncle. Just then, she could have used one.

"I am walking a delicate line to keep Lucis safe, Marshal. If you cannot trust me, then at least have the respect—or fear—to challenge me in private. Whichever motivates you. I do not care."

How many lies, now? A hundred a day, a thousand a week? A million lies, forming the foundation of her kingdom.

Then again, her whole life was a lie.

She brushed past Cor and led Ignis back to the Leville. Iris stayed behind. It seemed she had given up hope on having a chat about Ardyn. And Ignis, for his part, didn't ask her any questions—even if he was wondering. Even when they were back in their room, alone with the door shut.

Reina washed sweat and ichor off her hands and splashed cold water on her face. She caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror and held her own gaze for a moment; she felt a morbid fascination as she traced the network of scars that twisted across her face and neck. How could anyone look at her and feel anything but repulsion? Ignis, at least, she could understand. To him, she still looked the same as she had at twenty.

When she emerged into the bedroom, Ignis was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back toward her. He waited for her to speak, as he usually did, these days. Most of the time his endless patience never paid off. But today she wanted to know.

"Are you wondering what I think of Ardyn?"

He had every right to be. Maybe it had been a secret, once, that Reina spoke with the Starscourge incarnate, but now that was all out in the open. As far as the others knew, her nighttime excursions were for the sole purpose of seeing Ardyn.

They were. Whatever she tried to convince herself.

"No," Ignis said.

No?

Reina sat down next to him. "Why?"

"I do not wonder because I trust you—fully, completely, without reservation. If I had any lingering doubt, I might wonder. But I do not."

Amidst all of the absurdity that this day held, that was the strangest. She had done nothing to earn that sort of trust. She didn't deserve it.

"Nor do I want concern for my safety to cloud your judgement," he said. "Do what you must do with regards to Ardyn."

He… wanted her to encourage Ardyn? Or, at least, not  _discourage_ him?

"That doesn't bother you?" She asked.

"Your alliance with him earns us a great deal. You have control over the daemons due to his favor of you and he has not organized an attack on a settlement in years. If I must endure his antagonism for that, then so be it. Lucis is more important."

That wasn't really what she had meant—though it did seem to reinforce his previous answer—but it was good information to have, anyway.

She caught his face in her hands and smoothed her thumbs over his cheeks. "I will keep you safe."

"I know."

Perhaps he couldn't see what was before him. Perhaps he  _had_ misplaced his faith in her. But it was nice that someone in Eos still believed she was a human.

And she loved him for that.

 

######  _31 October, 760:_

The Dreams returned.

When she was asleep, she slipped into the In-Between unintentionally. When she was in the In-Between, he could find her. He could give her shape in a world of empty blackness and whisper in her ear.

"You  _love_ him. Love. What does that mean in a world of this sort?" Ardyn stood behind her, forcing her to look over her shoulder at him. "Does he bring you joy…? Do you even remember what joy is, anymore?"

His fingers brushed up her bare arm, across her shoulder, and settled on the back of her neck.

_Did_ she remember what joy was?

Ardyn's fingers crept up the back of her neck, beneath her hair, then dragged back down, tracing the line of her spine.

"Joy is—was—being with Father and Noctis… when we used to go out to the pond and watch Noct fish, or laugh over dinner, or sneak into Father's room in the middle of the night…"

"Mmm… when you belonged. Even if you didn't have everything you wanted… you had every _one_ who mattered." He pulled her hair across her back and settled his hands on her shoulders. When he spoke next it was against her ear. "I could bring that back, you know."

Reina shook her head, but without any vehemence. It was almost… regret.

"Your future is as bleak as this one. Darkness and destruction—an end to all life and love and light."

"Only if you let it be…" His breath was hot against her skin, his lips soft against her ear. "Be my queen, little Dreamer, and this world will be whatever you want it to be. We can bring back the sun; for who better to hold back the dark than the ruler of daemons?"

He slipped his hands down her shoulders and along her arms. His touch caused bumps to rise on her skin, but not that way—not like it should have. She should have been repulsed. She wasn't.

Ardyn grasped her waist, flattened his hand across her stomach, and pulled her back against him. She hadn't noticed until then that he had put her in a gown—one of the many dresses that hung in her wardrobe back in Insomnia. Had he been sifting through her old things?

"We can sit at the top of the world, where we belong." Now his mouth was wet against her ear, her jaw, her neck. "We could rule a world free from the Astrals… spare our people forevermore from their hubris and cruelty."

His hand tightened against her waist; the other pulled her tighter, until their bodies were flush.

"Wouldn't you like to put right all the wrongs in the world...?"

Reina shut her eyes. She knew she was in the In-Between; she knew she was asleep. All she had to do was wake up.

"Be my queen, little Dreamer."

"I don't want to be anyone's queen." She pulled away, breaking his hold on her waist, stepping out of the range of his honeyed words. "And I don't want you to hurt Ignis."

"Yes, we have established that." He was smiling, but he let her step back from him. "The question, then, remains: what  _do_ you want? Whatever it is, you can tell  _me_. Your darkest dreams. Your secret desires. I would never judge you for that. After all, it could never be worse than what  _I_  have done."

What did she want? Father always used to ask her that and she never had an answer for him—never anything that satisfied him.

"I don't know."

"Aww." It was difficult to tell if there was anything truly sincere behind the look of sympathy he gave her. The first thing she had ever thought of him—the first time they met—was that he lied so openly it was difficult to tell which lies were the important ones. Now, at least, he didn't punctuate the look with a smirk. That was something.

"My. Little. Dreamer. You spend so much time seeing to the needs of others that you no longer know your own. All I can do, then, is guess. Shall I take a shot?" He leaned forward and flicked a strand of hair out of her face. "You want to not be alone, anymore, because for four  _long_ years, you have been  _so lonely_. You want someone to see you for what you truly are, because you're tired of pretending. And you want—you  _need_ —for that person to love you in spite of what they see."

He had taken a step forward, closing the distance between them once more. She didn't pull back when he tilted her chin up toward him and traced the line of her jaw with his fingers.

"It goes without saying that Ignis does  _not_ give this to you. If he did… you wouldn't still want it."

"That's not true."

"No? Do you believe he understands you, as I do? Do you think he knows your heart and soul?" His face moved closer, inch by inch, and his voice dropped until he was whispering in her ear, his cheek brushing against hers. "Do you think he would still love you if he knew?"

Her silence was an answer in and of itself.

Maybe Ignis would still love her, but she couldn't know for sure without risking everything they had. Of all the fears that governed her life with him, that was the strongest.

"I could give you what you want." His hand settled on her neck, his thumb still hooked under her jaw to keep her chin pointed up. The other hand pressed against her back, holding her against him. "I could be  _everything you need_."

"Ardyn—"

And then he stepped back. Her balance wavered, but she caught herself and tried to gather up the bits and pieces of her shattered wits.

"All I need from you is one. Little. Word." He held up a single finger, walking backward as darkness closed in. "Until then, I'll be waiting, little Dreamer. I'll be watching."

His voice lingered after he was gone. She dissolved—a consciousness without a body, once more adrift in the In-Between.

And she woke. Not because she wanted it, but because she needed to. Lucis would only wait so long while she Dreamed and drifted. People were waiting for her, relying on her, even if they hated her for it. So she woke for them. For duty. For responsibility.

All the while she told herself it didn't matter what she wanted.

If any part of her thought Ardyn could ever give her that—love without conditions, acceptance without judgement—then she was a fool. Though he may once have been a man, he was a daemon, now—broken by betrayal and rebuilt by hatred. He could make those claims, but what he offered wasn't love. It was obsession.

And yet. If she could be so changed… couldn't he?

Couldn't he find redemption in a world by putting right the wrongs the Astrals had done?

And if she could put right the wrongs done unto him…

Couldn't she save him?


	61. To Be Known

__

######  _October 760 - January, 761:_

If she shut her eyes and covered her ears, it was  _almost_ the same as her place in Insomnia had been, so many years ago.

When this had all begun, she couldn't even compare the two. Ruling a whole kingdom while the world was falling apart wasn't in any way parallel to sitting in court for her father. She had never before organized an army, evacuated settlements, invented a way to feed all of her people without sunlight or animals, created an entirely new power grid, learned how to keep citizens safe from a constant influx of daemons, or rebuilt a government from scratch, but that was what had been expected of her, here. So she had done them. And now Lucis was… stable.

Save for Insomnia, all of Lucis was powered and reclaimed. Every fortress that had once been an imperial base was now a safe haven for her people. Every outpost that had once been little more than a souvenir shop and a gas station was now a self-contained civilization. Even Galdin had been retaken; most of the old buildings were unsalvageable, but the port remained and a fishing village, of sorts, had sprung up. The oceans seemed not to be as significantly impacted by the Starscourge as the skies but the fish populations were beginning to wane. Even so. Waste not want not.

Daemons still roamed the roads and any vehicle travelling between settlements needed an escort. They tried to avoid travel as much as possible for that reason. If it was unavoidable, Reina could handle an entire convoy on her own—provided she wasn't needed elsewhere. Save for travel, though, the daemons tended not to bother them, much. They no longer directly attacked outposts. They didn't organize into raids. People attributed that to different things—the Glaive, the walls, the lights, a lingering blessing from the Oracle, or Reina herself. But she knew what was really holding them back.

Ardyn.

She had the power to hold them back from Lestallum, but she could not control the all-encompassing hoard as he did. He was the one who had organized them into an army in the first place and now he was the one who had called them off. And why? Because of his obsession with her, no doubt. The more she thought on it, the less surprised she was. Ardyn had always been fixated on her family. While Noctis was around, Ardyn's focus had been on causing suffering. Precisely when that had changed, Reina couldn't say for certain. It was not a stark line they had crossed; debatably, the line had not been crossed at all. His motivations, changed as they were, were far from selfless. But he had seen something in her that reminded him of himself. That didn't scare her as much as it should have.

So he gave her Lucis. He held Insomnia and Reina left it to him, refusing every one of Cor's suggestions that they retake the city. It held nothing but pain for her. She had enough of that in her life without hunting it down and letting it slap her in the face.

So they persisted. And they survived.

As far as Reina knew, the only people still alive in all of Eos were in Lucis. They had refugees from everywhere. Barriers had broken down; country had no meaning, anymore. There was only life or death.

Reina still hadn't decided where she stood on that line.

If her calculations were correct, it meant that only ten percent of Eos' population from before the Fall was still alive and human. Once, Insomnia had been home to some three hundred thousand people. Now, they had only a third of that in all of Lucis, including all the survivors from Accordo and every refugee from Tenebrae and Niflheim. As much as she told herself it was a miracle they had even that many, she couldn't help but wonder how much better Father would have done.

The economy had become a strange amalgamation of systems. Everyone was guaranteed food and shelter, in her kingdom. Everyone had the  _same_ food and shelter—excepting that the Glaives and hunters were granted understandable privileges—and everyone worked for it, however they were able. For non-necessities, people bartered or exchanged a mismatch of currency—gil, Niflheim's sovereign, or even meteorshards. If she hadn't been so preoccupied, it might have been interesting to see how the economy evolved on its own.

As it was, Reina was less interested in economics and government than she had been several years ago. Now she was more concerned with magic and the Starscourge. Everything else could be done without her.

"Preliminary tests for the inoculation have been promising, Your Majesty."

"Highness," Reina said automatically. Everyone who stayed in Lestallum for any amount of time knew not to call her 'Majesty', by now, but Sania Yeagre wasn't often in Lestallum. The testing facility that she ran, along with the other surviving scientists she had managed to scrounge from Lucis' population, was closer to Titanfall than to Lestallum. Reina could make an excuse for that. At least once.

"Ah. Yes." It wasn't easy to make Sania hesitate mid-explanation. Maybe it was Reina's eyes—near-colorless blue—boring into her. "Your Highness. The first clinical trials have gone well—all test groups show no major side effects to the vaccine. With your approval, we'll broaden the pools and proceed to the next phase of testing."

"Do you have any idea how effective it is, yet?" Reina asked.

"The challenge model minority group has showed no signs of infection," said Sania.

"A translation for the rest of us?" Cor asked.

Sania sighed. "I mean that those people who have been inoculated with the new vaccine  _and_ exposed to the Starscourge under controlled situations have  _not_ contracted the disease."

"If I might." Weskham leaned forward in his chair. "I am given to understand that this process—from preliminary testing to clinical trials—usually takes place over many years. Is it not unsafe to proceed so soon?"

"Well, ideally we would have at least two years to monitor the results of tissue and animal subjects, and at least a year in this first phase of human testing—but ideally we also wouldn't be in danger of extermination."

And that was Sania. No bullshit. No sugar-coating. Just 'we have less than ten percent of the world's population left, and if we don't do this now we're all going to die.'

No one offered any further objections. They only exchanged uncomfortable looks down the length of the table.

"Do it." Reina leaned back in her chair, grasping the armrests. "You have my approval. Expand the test groups as you see fit."

Sania bowed. "Thank you, Your—Highness." And saw herself out.

In her absence, discussion continued.

"Is it possible that, upon return of the light, those who have become daemons will regain their original form?" Ignis asked.

If they did, everyone was going to starve to death in the first year.

"I find it unlikely," Reina said. "If the Astrals' plan succeeds, the Starscourge itself will be eradicated. The miasma will dissipate—allowing light to shine through once more—and those who are infected will become healthy. However, those who have become daemons have, in essence,  _become_ the Starscourge. It is not like conventional diseases. It is parasitic and, instead of reproducing, it taints and converts. That which it touches becomes as it is. I see no way that those people could be saved—they will likely be destroyed along with the rest."

Silence met her words as her council digested the information. Bleak though it may have been to accept that only a hundred thousand people would be left in Eos when this was all finished—if it was ever finished—they needed to come to terms with it, now.

"Pardon my ignorance, Your Highness, but is it known exactly how the Starscourge will be destroyed?" Weskham had, to his credit, remained just as polite as ever throughout the years. He hated her, but he tried not to let it show.

"The scourge has a source—" Reina said.

"Ardyn," Cor growled.

"Indeed." She didn't spare him a glance. "It would not be inaccurate to say that he is the hub from which all that is tainted in this world stems. In the past, Caelums have used the power of the crystal to push back the Starscourge—to scour it from the face of Eos—but without destroying the source, it always returned. The intent, then, is to remove Ardyn—a process in and of itself, which we need not discuss at length—and  _then_ let the light of the crystal cleanse the world. In this way, the Starscourge will be permanently removed."

"And… do we know why the ex-chancellor is the source?" Weskham asked.

"Yes," Reina said.

And nothing more.

No one asked her to elaborate. By now they knew she wouldn't.

The only person at the table who knew of Ardyn's origin—besides herself—was Ignis. And that was how she meant for it to stay. The rest of them had, perhaps, drawn some conclusion—whether correct or erroneous. They could theorize all they liked. She wasn't going to confirm or deny anything.

It took another moment for Weskham to gather the courage to ask another question, but the fact that she hadn't dismissed the council, yet, seemed to serve as encouragement.

"And—forgive me, but—legend has it that the royal line wields magic for the express purpose of holding back the dark. If the Starscourge is eliminated, what will become of the magic?"

"The source of our magic is, primarily, the crystal and the Astrals. Both of these will—as you have guessed—be no more once the Starscourge is gone. As it stands, the power of the crystal is almost entirely contained within the ring, now. In a few more years the process will be complete. All of the raw magic of Eos, which, in the past, the Caelums have been able to use and channel at great cost to themselves, will be more simply accessible for its ultimate purpose. The act of banishing the Starscourge will all but expend it; the ring will be destroyed in the process, the spirits of the Lucii will be released and laid to rest at long last. As for the  _gift_  of the Astrals—the Elemancy—well. I expect they will find a way to revoke it."

In fact, she expected they would have  _already_ revoked it, if she had possessed any Elemancy of her own. It was just as well, then, that she had access to it from a different source.

"Both the ring  _and_ the crystal will be destroyed?" Cor asked.

"Whether destroyed or reduced to a rock, the result is the same. But yes."

"But the crystal is the  _Heart of Eos_ ," said Cor.

"The crystal is a corporeal manifestation of the Heart. It did not exist before the founding of the line of Lucis, when the Astrals formed those first bonds. Eos exists with or without the crystal. It merely serves as a conduit—a way for the power of the star to be harnessed and drawn upon by the royal line."

"But you said it would be drained entirely," Cor pressed.

"I did. But you should think of the power as less of a bowl of water and more as a spring. Once it is drained it will refill. Whether in a hundred years or in a thousand years, eventually Eos will be replete with that power once more. Whether or not it will ever be accessible to mankind again, however, is a different question entirely. And one that I cannot answer."

Again a pause as her council mulled over the information she had given them.

"If there is nothing else?" She made it a question, but they all knew it was a dismissal.

They took it. No one lingered to gather around her after, though Ignis remained ever at her side.

Iris stood, stretching, as the rest of the council dissipated. "The hunters say there's a great big daemon growing out of the  _wall_ in that tunnel on the way to Galdin. Any takers?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin your fun," said Reina. "Try Cor."

"You don't want to ruin my  _fun_ , but you're going to recommend I take  _Cor_ with me?"

Reina smiled. She didn't, usually—not here—but when it was just Iris and Ignis… sometimes she let herself forget.

Iris shook her head and turned toward the door. "I wish their heads didn't dissolve. I would have  _so_ many wall trophies."

After the door shut behind her, Ignis spoke: "It seems young Iris, at least, has found joy in this new world."

"We all must do what we can to survive. Those who were younger, ironically, have it easier."

"To hear you speak, one would think you an old maid."

"Aren't I?" She glanced at him. "Sometimes I feel it."

Father always used to complain about how old he was, no matter how often she told him he wasn't. Now she understood. She  _felt_ old. And she wasn't even fifty. How had he managed all those years with the ring?

Ignis took her hand. "The ring takes its toll."

"Time and time again."

"And you have cause to use it more than most."

It was true enough that Father had used it inactively—a constant drain on him, yes, but a slow one. She used it in leaps and bounds, more of it than he ever had. And it showed. On her skin, in her eyes, deep in her soul.

"It is no mystery why Caelums tend not to live long lives," she said.

He squeezed her hand and gave her a tight smile.

"Let us eat," he said, because he knew she had skipped breakfast in favor of training.

It was hard to believe that a few years ago she had eaten for some reason other than survival. All the same, she let him pull her to her feet and take her to the kitchens.

"I have a question I need answered," she said.

He was quiet a moment, and then, "Insomnia?"

Only two people answered questions for her; he had made a guess between the pair and he guessed correctly.

"Yes. But I need not be there in person."

The Leville kitchens served those who resided in the hotel—Reina and her council, what little remained of the Crownsguard, and the Glaives and hunters stationed in Lestallum—for the rest of the city, rations were distributed and they were free to cook them as they pleased within their own residences, which had multiplied in number since the Fall. Within the Leville kitchens, citizens were employed to cook and clean as necessary—though sometimes Ignis, Monica, or others made use of the facilities temporarily.

Today, the dining room was scattered with hunters and Glaives, along with a handful of the civilians on the serving staff. Eyes turned as she entered. They usually did. A few people scrambled to their feet to bow, others averted their gaze, but all of them put their heads together in covert whispers when she failed to acknowledge either side.

"...has the scourge…"

" _I_ heard she means to spread it."

"She's got daemons in her head!"

"... _is_ a daemon."

Why was she even here?

Ignis' hand tightened on hers, but she pulled away from him. "I'll be upstairs."

"Reina—"

She turned on her heel and went back the way they had come. Ignis could find his way without her; he always did, these days.

Whispers followed her upstairs. This was what she had wanted. This was what she had cultivated. It was better this way.

It had been easier to convince herself of that when it was just a ruse. But it wasn't. The others were right. It wasn't just what she had wanted them to see; it was the truth. Cor saw a monster when he looked at her because that was what she had become.

Once he had seen his brother's daughter. Once he had seen a niece.

Once they had seen a queen.

Now they all saw a monster and they were  _all right_.

She closed herself up in her room and curled up in an armchair; her mind dropped into the In-Between even before she registered what she was doing. She needed out. She needed refuge. She needed somewhere she could be herself and no one would care.

So she rode the currents, following little black eddies of time and space and letting them sweep her along to where she wanted to be.

To Insomnia.

Ardyn was waiting for her, just as he said he would be. Just as he always was.

He looked up, adjusting his hat as she reconnected with the physical realm and manifested as a ghost, of sorts. And somehow he knew. Of course he knew.

He rose from the throne, eyes fixed on her as he descended the stairs. He didn't smirk or smile; he didn't call her 'little Dreamer' in that sing-song voice; he didn't tell her this was what she could expect from others; he didn't remind her that he could give her better.

But he took her—not in hand, but in mind—and together they dropped out of that world—that real, terrible nightmare—until they were little more than two souls adrift in a realm where 'real' lost its meaning, where time stopped and space was only what they made of it.

" _Where do you want to be, little Dreamer?"_

He had no body, but he had a voice.

Reina reached out and formed the space to her will without thinking about it; the landscape appeared around them, as if a thick fog had receded away, laying bare what had always been present: a still pond with a lone pier surrounded by towering evergreens and winding dirt paths. A pair of collapsible chairs sat at the shore-end of the pier and a bucket of ice at the other end.

Ardyn appeared beside her in a swirl of color. He dropped unceremoniously into one of the chairs and spread his hands, smiling, as if to say 'how very quaint.'

This was where they had gone when Noctis had wanted to fish, before. Sometimes just the two of them. Sometimes with Father. She looked toward the opposite end of the pier and imagined Noctis standing there, casting his line, and so he was.

The other chair was hers—empty, waiting—but she didn't take it. Ardyn was as surprised as she was when she sat with him, curled against his chest, and shut her eyes. He froze, nonreactive for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her head.

Maybe she was a monster. But he knew that and here they were, anyway, because he understood: sometimes a Caelum had to do terrible things.

For a long moment they just sat, her head against his shoulder, his fingers in her hair. Perhaps she shouldn't have done. Perhaps she shouldn't have come to him in the first place, but if she could have this for a few minutes—just an instant of time when she was  _her_ , without walls or masks or misinterpretation—then she couldn't turn it down.

So she spoke. She opened her mouth and let out everything inside: everything she had done and everything she earned in return. And when she was through his hand rested, unmoving, at the base of her neck. He didn't speak for a long time, after. If she had looked, she would have seen the expression on his face—the way he stared into the distance, eyes unseeing and unblinking.

Then: "No matter how much good you do… no matter how many lives you save… they will always see the darkness first. It doesn't matter to them that you have never harmed a single person. It doesn't matter that all you have  _ever_ done is for their good, their safety, their well-being. They will  _always_ cast you out—turn on you when you fall from grace."

This was why.

This was why he understood.

This was why they were the same.

Reina shut her eyes and pressed her forehead to his neck, her hands closing on fistfuls of his cloak.

"How did you get through?"

His hand resumed its motion, combing her hair back from her face, twisting up and pulling back.

"By turning it around. They call you a monster? Learn to use it. Embrace it." He turned his head, leaning back so he could look at her. "Never deny. Never regret. I am both monster and man, human and daemon, healer and killer. Why settle for only one? Sometimes the world needs a monster to put things right. And do you know what?"

He traced the line of her jaw from neck to chin.

"What?"

"Once you can do that… you remember how to  _smile_ again." He did so, as if to illustrate. And though it was every inch as dark and twisted as it had been every time before, she understood.

He could smile. But he still remembered how wrong the world was.


	62. Bonding of Souls

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######  _19 January, 761:_

When she opened her eyes, Ignis was sitting in the armchair across from her. It was difficult to say how long she had been gone. If she concentrated she could make it back seconds after leaving, but her mind had been elsewhere, today. More important topics. All-consuming thoughts.

"Did you find the answer to your question?" Ignis asked.

It took a moment before she realized what he was talking about. She  _had_ meant to asked Ardyn a question but those plans had been rather derailed. She would ask him later.

"No."

"Ah," he said, as if he understood, "Did you find solace?"

He thought she had been to see her father, instead. That was where she usually went, when upset, but this time…

Father hardly understood more than Ignis. He was too good. Too true. Maybe he knew what the Astrals had done and  _of course_  he was angry about that… but he couldn't see what she had become. Like Ignis, he didn't understand.

Not like Ardyn did.

"I did." She didn't correct his assumption. Better that he believe what he believed. Better that he didn't know the truth.

He only nodded. Then: "I brought you lunch."

He motioned; sitting on the side table was a plate served from the kitchens. She didn't much feel like eating.

"Thank you."

"Reina… about what was said…"

"It's alright. They're right; I am a monster."

"That isn't true."

Oh, Ignis. He couldn't see; he had no idea what was right before him, but he tried so hard for her. She reached out to take his hand, squeezing his fingers. He deserved to live in the light. He deserved better than what she could give him; his loyalty, his dogged faithfulness—she could never repay those as they should have been.

"You are not the person you believe you are," Ignis said. "Do not let yourself fall into the trap you have set for everyone else. Though I cannot fathom, still, why you would wish for anyone to despise you, I do know that you need not to despise yourself. Whatever you believe, whatever you keep from me, whatever you fear I would hold against you, know that I have already forgiven it."

Reina gave a tight smile that he would never see. Maybe he would have forgiven her. But he still didn't understand.

She wasn't a good person.

And she didn't despise that.

Later, after Ignis had convinced her to eat the lunch he had brought, she returned to the In-Between to find the answer to the question she had forgotten to ask.

When she returned, Ardyn was waiting. She found him in Insomnia and, though she could have asked him just as easily without, she pulled him into the In-Between. The throne room flickered around them. Then it became what it had once been. Light streamed in through high windows, the marble floor glinted in the sunlight, the walls were whole, and the crystal was gone. The only visible difference between this place and the true past was that Ardyn was sitting on the throne.

"Back so soon?" He leaned forward, a smile twisting across his features, and held his hands out to her.

Reina stepped forward, fingertips brushing his palm. His hand closed around hers, but he didn't pull her. Not, leastways, until she had already moved in that direction; then he drew her into his lap and she went—comfortable, known, understood.

"I had a question."

"You have but to ask." His voice washed over her, smooth and curated, deep in his chest where her head rested.

"You said before that not all of our magic is from the Astrals or the crystal. What did you mean?"

"I mean that the Caelum bloodline carries connections that predate the Astrals and their  _gifts_. Don't you remember the stories?"

"I thought they were all lies."

"Even lies hold a grain of truth, deep down. So. What do they tell you about the crystal?" His fingers traced the line of her spine from her shoulders to her hips and back again.

It had been years since she thought on the Cosmogony and her old history lessons, but to the best of her recollection:

"The legends say that a mortal man was blessed with divine powers; that he summoned a collection of glaives—the Armiger—and drove back the darkness. For his efforts, the Astrals granted him the crystal."

"And of the ring?" He asked.

"Supposedly the ring was made by the Astrals and given to mankind centuries before. It passed from person to person before it reached someone who was worthy. He became the first king of Lucis." She tucked her feet up onto the throne and her head under his chin. "I always assumed that was Somnus in both cases—everyone says he was the first king of Lucis and they call him the Founder King… but the Cosmogony never names him."

"Mmm. Because it was  _not_ Somnus, but his elder brother who first used the ring."

"You."

"Me."

"What happened?"

"From the beginning—the truth, since you are unlikely to hear it anywhere else, is this:

"The ring  _was_ created by the Astrals, not long after the fall of Solheim. During this time, the scourge was still growing—still working its way across Eos, still infecting, still  _mutating_. Already it was too strong for them to eliminate on their own. Knowing this, they set in motion a plan to have mankind solve their problems for them. They created a ring, which would allow a person—the  _right_ person—to access the power of Eos, among other things. And then they waited. And they slept.

"Over the years, the legend of the ring spread and shifted. Many men, from prince to pauper, tried it on and found it inert on their hand—just a ring. Nothing special. Eventually it made its way to what is now Lucis, but I— _we_ —were more before that.

"That part of the story is true. By some coincidence of nature, if you please, or by divine intervention—though not from  _those_ Gods—if you're feeling poetic, a mortal was born able to reach out of this world and into the next. Our family has always been able to trace our lineage back through the grave… and  _touch_ them.

"This was our gift.  _Caelum_ , from the sky, because the idea of  _beyond_ the sky was foreign and we had no word for it. Now you call it the bonding of souls—but know that this was  _always_ ours. No colossus granted it to us. No ring. No crystal. It is in your blood as surely as it is in mine—in the most literal way possible. For it is blood that binds us.

"And so the ring reached me. I knew before I put it on my finger the first time that it was more than a ring—it was the sky in a stone. It was beyond the sky. And when I wore it, I found it was a catalyst—no, an amplifier—taking my own, bloodborne range and blowing it open so wide I could  _feel_ the world. Today it contains so many souls that I'm hardly surprised you didn't notice this when you put it on. I imagine having one hundred generations of fools staring down at you might distract from the more important matters. But for me it was a pure, open channel.

"I could see the Starscourge, as well, and the days were growing shorter then, much as they are now—well.  _Did_. In any case, the ring allowed me to channel the heart of Eos.

"Of everything in  _two thousand years_ … that was the most painful.

"You know—have felt—what it is like to open yourself to that power and let it pour out through your soul. It has marked you. Scarred you." He tilted her chin up so he could see her face and traced one finger over the scars. "But this was worse. No crystal in between. No buffer. Just me and  _all of that power_.

"But it did work. Or it nearly worked. The mortal body isn't designed to withstand that sort of pain and pressure for long. I couldn't push back long enough—hard enough—to eliminate the scourge. And that was when the Astrals realized the flaw in their plan. Without something in between, without some filter to tame the magic even a little bit, no mortal could draw enough power to destroy the Starscourge. It was much too strong.

"And so they appeared, taking a pause from their lovely little nap. And they  _gifted_ me with the crystal, that I might try again. But they did more. They bound their magic with mine, and mine with the crystals until the three were inextricable. You cannot tell which magic is ours and which is theirs because no one else has ever known one without the other. With this, they charged me to protect the crystal until I was prepared to try again.

"Well the years passed and I built Lucis from the ground up, but I never forgot that pain. The Starscourge began to spread once more, taking my people until the day I found  _I_ could take it from  _them_. And the rest, I believe, you know."

Reina sat, quiet throughout, looking up at him when he took her chin and following his face thereafter. It was a lot to process. It was also a painful reminder of where they were and why.

She shifted so her arms curled around his neck and her head rested on his shoulder.

"Why didn't Somnus use the crystal like you were meant to—to destroy the Starscourge?"

Ardyn smiled. "Oh, but he did. Or he tried. But by then it was too late. It was inside me, inside my soul, and—" he laughed "—by the Astrals' own incompetencies, I was made immortal. For I was bound to the ring, already, and the ring anchors souls to the physical world. That I am able to make and remake myself is due to the scourge—else I would be a formless soul like the others. That I am stuck here forever is due to  _them_.

"And so the Astrals made yet another plan… a plan that would take two thousand years to see completion. A plan that took one hundred and thirteen generations of my brother's offspring and bound them to the physical world, refusing to give them death until  _I_ was destroyed. And over the centuries the Caelum bloodline strengthened, as did the ring. Until, finally, a child—two children—were born with the strength necessary to face what I have become."

Reina's brow furrowed. "So I could kill you?"

"Could you?" He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb, watching the motion with rapt attention.

Could she?

"I don't know."

He only smiled.

Another question crossed her mind:

"You said that your magic— _our_ innate magic might be through divine intervention… just not from the Astrals? What does that mean?"

"Little more than perverse observation." His gaze hadn't shifted from her lips. "The Astrals are hardly Gods. They created nothing—they were only meant to protect it, and did so poorly. Like a stupid child left to watch the dog while Mommy and Daddy are away, except he poisons the dog and spends the rest of the night trying increasingly complicated—and painful—strategies to  _un_ poison it. Only time will tell whether the dog lives or dies. Things are looking grim."

"Are there real Gods?"

He gave an unconcerned shrug. "Either they don't exist or they don't care about us. The result is the same, regardless. We live or die at the whim of half a dozen idiots."

"Would that be so bad?"

His smile deepened. Was he closer, or was that her imagination?

"First we fight back. If the dog tears the child's throat out, he will never endanger anyone ever again."

He  _was_ closer.

"Ardyn—"

"Little Dreamer."

"Don't."

He stopped. He let out a breath that was hot against her lips. Her hold tightened on the back of his cloak.

"If you didn't want it… you would open your eyes and be back in your nice… little… bed. With your nice… little…  _Ignis_." He was so close that his lips actually brushed hers when he spoke.

She chose not to respond to that.

"I won't—betray Ignis."

He tsked and sat back in the throne. Reina let out a breath.

"Ignis, Ignis,  _Ignis_. If you would let me kill him, this wouldn't be a problem."

"I don't want you to kill him."

"Yes… so you have said. Perhaps, then, you should tell him that your interests have changed."

"I don't—"

But he was gone. Dropped out of the In-Between and back into the physical, rejoining his body in Insomnia and leaving Reina in the false throne room alone.

She slumped forward in the empty throne, putting her feet on the ground, her elbows on her knees, and her head in her hands.

"I don't want to be with you, Ardyn."

She said it out loud, because it almost sounded real, that way.

This time, when she returned to the physical realm, Ignis was asleep. She had no desire to go to bed, so she paced the length of the balcony outside her room, thinking on Ardyn's words.

Inevitably, she did get hungry. The meager portion of lunch that she had actually eaten hadn't lasted long in her stomach.

Short of sending Ignis to the kitchens to get food for her again, the only way to avoid the whispering was to go in the lull between shifts. With no day or night, a sort of circadian day had developed and, sparing the clocks that told them what time it was  _meant_ to be, people approximated more or less the same sleep-wake schedule, anyway, save for those hunters and Glaives who worked on an opposite guard shift.

The cycle meant that, night or not, there  _was_ a time when the kitchens and dining room were empty. That was when Reina went. Ignis slept on; she had years of experience at slipping out without waking him, by now. Why disturb him when she was only going downstairs?

Nevertheless, he found her while she was reheating a pan of stew on the stove.

"Reina…"

She turned to find him in the doorway. "I didn't mean to wake you.,"

He stepped forward, fingers just brushing the edge of the counter to remind himself where he was. If not for that gesture, she might have forgotten he was blind.

"You should always wake me," he said.

She shook her head, turning back to the pot on the stove. "You should take what rest you can."

"I would rather be with you." He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her hair.

She shut her eyes, taking just one moment in the middle of everything else to be safe, warm, and loved—even if not for who she really was.

"Are you hungry? I will cook for you," Ignis said.

"You don't need to do that."

"Nor do you need to put up with what these people serve you." He caught her chin, tilting her head back and loosening his hold on her just enough to kiss her.

"Let me provide for you. Everything you want." His lips brushed hers when he spoke; he didn't give her space to respond. He kissed her again.

It was distracting.  _Almost_ distracting enough to make her forget the oddities.

'These people'?

' _Everything_  she wanted'?

And since when did he hold her so tight, kiss her just so; with growing desperation, as if—

Reina tugged at the strand of crimson magic. One end tied to her and the other… to Ignis…

She twisted in his arms, breaking grasp and kiss alike, and opened her eyes to find herself looking up at—

"Ardyn."

"Tsk. You might have at least  _pretended_ not to notice. And it was all going so  _well_."

He stepped forward. She stepped back. Except the stove was right behind her and she could only move so far away. His face lowered toward hers and she pressed her palms against his chest to hold him back with quivering arms.

He could have kissed her again. He was that close. She could feel his breath against her lips, even as she pushed back and found him solid—immovable.

"Don't."

"Oh, little Dreamer." He held her chin in his palm and traced her lips with his thumb. "Do not fear me. When the rest of the world screams and flees…  _you_ stand resolute.  _You_ understand. We both know you're still too true to betray  _dear_ Ignis before you tell him how you  _really_ feel. But if you had let us both suspend disbelief for a few moments longer…" With one more flick of his thumb he straightened, a look of regret on his face. "But I am growing bored of waiting for you to leave Ignis."

"I'm not—"

"Oh, little Dreamer. Don't waste your breath lying to me." He smiled. "You know it's too late. We're already bound."

"We're—what?"

And he laughed. "Have you forgotten what we spoke of, today, already? When you forge a bond of blood across the grave… what happens?"

Reina's brow furrowed. "The Armiger?"

"Mmm. When  _was_ the last time you summoned those lovely blades?"

She reached with her mind and found them waiting. When she called, they leapt into the physical realm to join her—surrounding her in a circle of glaives; thirteen altogether.

No—

Fourteen.

She held out her hand and the fourteenth blade leapt to her call in a flash of blue magic. A longsword of comfortable weight, warm in her palm and straight from hilt to tip. A line of red metal was folded in with the steel—or perhaps it was steel tainted by the scourge. The design was old—made for an archaic style of fighting without parry or thrust, but relying on deflection rather than a guard to protect the wielder's hand.

The Sword of the Sage.

Because their souls  _were_ bound, now. Even without a grave, even without a spirit in the In-Between, his blade came to her.

She let it go, banishing the rest of the blades in a burst of magic. He was smiling down at her.

"Now we are tied together…" He took another step back from her, never breaking his gaze, though miasma rose up even inside the kitchen and swirled around him. "Forever."

He was gone. Or, at least, he was out of sight. Where she went, he would never truly be absent, now.


	63. Allure

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######  _23 January, 761:_

" _Come and find me, little Dreamer."_

His words beckoned like a siren, cutting through thoughts and plans and demanding her attention. Lucis could stand on its own for a while. Titanfall was complete and secure; mining operations were moving along without hitch; the whole kingdom had power; all barricades were in good repair. Nothing was immediately pressing. Why shouldn't she go to Insomnia? She wanted to stand there with her own two feet, again. She wanted to see her father again, though she carried his soul wherever she went.

Iris didn't try to stop her, this time, didn't put a time limit on her stay. So she left the light behind and stepped into the darkness on her own.

Strictly speaking, that wasn't even true. Insomnia  _was_ lit, though the power wasn't coming from Lestallum. Ardyn had found some way to power it on his own—resurrected the dead power plants inside the Crown City limits. Street lights lit her way as she walked down the ruined bypass, following the red strand of energy that linked her to Ardyn, at the heart of Insomnia. Daemons followed her like rats after a piper. At least she was never at a loss for company, outside of the floodlights and barricades.

Their bond drew her onward, a little red thread dragging at her soul—or what was left of it. It led her to the Citadel and up the wide stairs. It led her down empty, silent halls, eerily lit and leaving the impression that nothing at all had happened here. She half expected to see servants walking the halls. Of course there were none.

There was only him.

"Ah, little Dreamer." Once it had been a mocking moniker, applied in jest to remind her how insignificant she was—how little she understood. Now it almost sounded affectionate. "Just when I was beginning to wonder if you wouldn't come at all."

"Yet here I am."

"Yet here you are."

They stood in the midst of what had once been a ballroom, draped in gold and velvet. It was still a ballroom and, indeed, the hangings were still partially intact, though all of the murals on the walls had been painted over—or added to.

"I see you've redecorated." Reina walked the perimeter of the room, inspecting his handiwork: the scene with Somnus being chosen by the crystal was splattered with something that looked suspiciously like blood—so thickly that it seemed as if Somnus himself had been decapitated; the light in the Chosen King's Ascension was painted over with black; the depiction of the Astrals gifting the crystal to mankind was now just barely visible behind the bright red scrawl of  _Ardyn Was Here_.

Ardyn took to her side, matching her steps before she was halfway around the room. "Do you like it?"

"'Ardyn  _is_  here,' I think."

He considered, pausing with her before what had once been a mural of the Six.

"It doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"I disagree. It's distinctly more eerie. 'Ardyn  _was_ here' seems a prank or harmless vandalism—but 'Ardyn  _is_ here' suggests to the reader that you're still right behind them."

Ardyn fixed her with a peculiar look, part disbelief, part amusement.

"Do you know, little Dreamer—I think I like you."

Yes, they had rather established that.

"I'm flattered."

"I'll have to fix it—but, before you distract me with more delightful additions—I have something for you."

"First I want to see Father."

"Oh but of course. How inconsiderate of me. And to think, for a moment I thought you came to see  _me_."

Reina sighed in exasperated amusement.

"Say no more," he said, though she had made no effort to do so. "I completely understand."

He held out his hand to her; she took the invitation without pause. His skin was warmer than she expected—though it was difficult to say why she had that expectation. Perhaps because he wasn't quite human, wasn't quite alive. And yet, it was hard to deny the feel of a hand—solid, real, warm—against hers. It was also difficult to forget what it felt like to be kissed by him, with his skin on hers.

He looped her hand around his arm and they walked, just the same way she had always walked through those halls with her father. They passed through the treaty room—with its macabre new decorations, which waved as they passed—and down below.

Though Ardyn had redecorated so much of the Citadel in the last five years, this room remained untouched. Unspoiled.

It didn't make any sense. Unless he was doing it just to placate her.

Father still lay precisely where he had fallen the night Drautos had run him through. He was only recognizable by his clothes, now.

Reina shut her eyes, stopping a few feet away. Even knowing that she could see him whenever she wanted, it hurt to know that in  _this_ world, this was what he had become. This was her nightmare. No more smiles. No more laughter. No more teasing Noctis about eating his vegetables or asking her when she was finally going to bring a boyfriend home.

He had never gotten to see her and Ignis together. He always teased her about Ignis, too. Despite the fact that he  _had been_ happy when she had told him… it wasn't the same. He would never experience life with them. She would never watch that smug smile grow on his face when he watched them together.

A tear escaped from behind closed lids.

Warm hands grasped her shoulders.

"Why do you come here, if it brings you such pain?" His voice was quiet—soft, even—and she could feel his breath on her ear when he spoke.

Reina opened her eyes. Father was still there. Still dead.

"So I never forget."

"Would that be so bad?" He was close enough behind her that she could feel his chest against her back.

"Yes."

"He doesn't have to stay this way, you know…" His lips brushed her ear. It was almost on accident, the first time. Then he traced the curve of her cartilage with his mouth and gave purpose to the motion. "You don't even have to do anything."

He leaned forward, stretching out one hand toward her father's fallen form, but he didn't release her. Quite the contrary; he wrapped the other arm around her, grasping the opposite shoulder so his forearm rested across the top of her chest, and pressed his cheek against hers.

The black-red glow of Ardyn's magic crept from his fingertips and leapt toward her father.

"No—! What are you doing?!" Reina grasped his arm and pulled, but he only held tighter.

"Shhh… Only what you wanted."

She watched as dark shadows wrapped around her father's skeleton, enveloping him, consuming him, blotting him out from view until he was only blackness.

"Don't—! Ardyn,  _please!_ " Reina dug her fingers into his arm, picked out the pressure points in his wrist and pressed as hard as she could. But he didn't let her go. And he didn't stop.

By the time he did, tears were running thick down her cheeks and dripping onto his sleeve. He dropped his hand. The darkness faded. And where once there had been a skeleton…

Lay her father.

Ardyn released her; she stumbled forward, dropping to her knees and reaching out to touch his back. Her fingers recoiled immediately. How was he real? How was he…  _solid_?

"What did you do?" Her voice quivered.

Ardyn said nothing; she didn't turn to see the look of rapt attention on his face, the half-smile that twisted across his lips.

Reina extended her hand again. She grasped her father's shoulder and found flesh and muscle and bone beneath a pristine suit. Impossible. Absurd and impossible.  _This_ was a dream, but—

She had to know.

She pulled, one hand on his back, and rolled him over.

It  _was_ him.

It was  _him_.

Reina sat back on her heels, covering her mouth with both hands as she stared, wide-eyed, down at her father's face. His eyes were shut, his face peaceful. He might just have been sleeping. No blood spattered his skin, nor stained the front of his suit. Both his hands were whole—no fingers missing, though the ragged, stained piece of Lunafreya's dress lay on the ground beside him.

She should have turned around, but she couldn't pull her eyes away. He was just like he had always been. As if Drautos had never pushed that blade through his back, as if nothing had ever happened. She couldn't stop herself. She reached forward to touch his face.

His skin was  _warm_.

Reina gasped, curling her fingers away, but only for an instant. He  _couldn't_ be. He was dead; he was gone. But her fingers picked out the artery in his neck. Blood thrummed rhythmically beneath them. His heart beat. His chest rose and fell. She could just feel warm breath beneath his nose.

"Not possible…" She shook her head.

"I told you, little Dreamer…" She had all but forgotten that Ardyn was still in the room with her until he spoke. "All he needs is a soul… all  _you_  need is to wait."

Just wait.

Not oppose Noctis. Not help Ardyn kill her brother.

Just wait.

She pressed her hand against her father's cheek, still not turning to look at Ardyn.

What was wrong with waiting?

"Now, say goodbye, little Dreamer." Ardyn's voice was closer, now, though she hadn't heard him move.

"What—why?" She  _did_ turn at that. She turned and looked up at him, entreating. He was right behind her, now.

_Please don't take him away, again_.

"You wouldn't want to leave him here on the basement floor, would you? Say goodbye—just for now—and I will send him upstairs, where he will wait. We can visit him whenever you like."

Upstairs. Upstairs was fine.

Reina swallowed hard, fighting back fresh tears, and turned toward her father's sleeping form. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, then she took Ardyn's hand and let him pull her to her feet. He drew her back, one arm around her. His magic engulfed her father. And Father was gone.

"Now, then. Shall we go upstairs?" Ardyn's voice was velvet in her ears.

"Yes…"

Something caught her eye on the stone floor. Father's phone.

"Wait—" She let go of Ardyn's arm and stooped to retrieve it. He would want his phone with him. And his cane—that was here, too, across the room—he would need that when—if—

She picked up his cane, too.

Ardyn took her upstairs; he didn't complain when she set her father's phone and cane on his bed beside him, where he now lay amidst hundreds of perpetual blooms. Just sleeping. Eventually she let Ardyn lead her away once more, though she held the Ring of the Lucii against her chest as she went.

"You know, we have yet to discuss your place in my kingdom, once this is all over." Ardyn led her across the hall to the room that had once been hers. It was five years since she had set foot in there—at least physically.

"You mean when Noctis is dead." She stepped into the room after him and found everything exactly as she remembered it. Untouched, save for Chika.

"Well either that or I am, in which case I hardly care—so yes. When Brother-dear is dead and you and I are the only Caelums remaining—the rejected few, emerging victorious against the Gods' Chosen." Ardyn spun about, arms thrown wide, then dropped onto her bed.

"But you'll bring Father back."

He smiled. "But of course."

"What about Noctis?"

Why was she even asking? Why was she entertaining this idea at all?

"What  _about_ Noctis?"

"Can you bring him back?"

She didn't want to know. She didn't need to know. It was irrelevant and it wasn't going to change the choice she had already made.

"That rather defeats the purpose of killing him."

"But it doesn't—don't you see?" She sat down next to him. The little voice in the back of her head was screaming. "You will have already proven that you're stronger, that the Astrals have failed. What difference does it make if he  _stays_ dead?"

She had gotten very good at ignoring that little voice.

Ardyn considered her for a moment. A long moment. Too long. Why did he hate Noctis so much more than Father? So much more than her? Just because he was Chosen and Ardyn had been meant to be?

He leaned forward, putting one hand on the bed behind her and catching her chin in his hand. "I'll do it for you, little Dreamer."

He was going to kiss her. Again.

He was going to kiss her and she was going to turn away.

"Ardyn—"

Of course she would turn away. She could do it right now. Just break his hold and look away from him instead of leaning closer, instead of thinking about that night in the kitchen, just a few days ago and what he had said…

_Tied together forever._

His lips brushed hers. She didn't turn away. He held onto her chin and kissed her just like he had before and every night since when she replayed that moment in her mind. Except this time they weren't even pretending that she didn't know the truth.

Reina pressed against him, hands sliding up, over his shoulders, and coming to rest at the back of his neck. His hair just brushed her fingertips; it was softer than she had expected.

When he pulled back she followed. He smiled against her lips, granting her just one more kiss before breaking away.

And he laughed—that dark, rolling laugh that made the hair at the back of her neck stand up—still close enough to brush her lips when he spoke. "But you've gone and made me forget again—what I found for you, in here."

She blinked at him, half in a daze as she stared up into his face—mind still stalling. He released her chin and stood, forcing her back to her senses.

Had that really just happened? Had he really just kissed her? Had she really  _kissed him back_? She was still musing when he pulled a violin case from the wardrobe.

She stopped musing.

"Yours, I suspect?" Ardyn asked.

Reina nodded, mouth suddenly dry. Father had given her that violin; she was fourteen and it had been stowed with her mother's old possessions. From an old friend, he had said.

Ardyn deposited the case gingerly on the bed beside her. He stepped back, extending a hand and an invitation. It took a moment before she reached forward and flipped the catch open. She lifted the lid, revealing the instrument inside. It called to her, gleaming red-brown in the light.

"Won't you play something, little Dreamer?" He asked.

The strings were loose and out of tune, but they whispered of songs to be sung.

"Just for me?" His voice dropped to a whisper.

She reached out, brushing her fingers over the polished wood. Then she grasped the neck and lifted her violin from the case. Her fingers remembered, even if the knowledge was just at the edge of her recollection; she twisted the pegs, finding the right tension for each string. When, at last, she brought the violin to her chin and dragged the bow across the strings, it hummed with life.

Ardyn was sitting in the window seat, just watching her, with a peculiar little half-smile on his lips.

"What shall I play?" She asked.

"Whatever is in your heart."

She stood, shutting her eyes and holding the bow over the strings for a moment. Consciously, she couldn't remember a single tune. If the violin had survived, there must have been sheet music somewhere around her room, as well, but she knew without looking that none of it would do.

She played.

A song without beginning or end, without purpose or goal. A low, mournful note climbing higher and higher—not joyful, but frenetic. Her fingers hit each note without pause or hesitation, though she couldn't have remembered where they were if she had tried—and she let it sweep her up:

The sound of a tumultuous sea in a storm.

The sound of desire so desperate it aches in the soul.

A song of struggle. Not for life, but for death.

It ended just as sharply, just as suddenly, as a blade thrust through a chest.

Silence rang. Then it split with a slow, steady clap. She opened her eyes to see Ardyn rise from the window and move toward her with that slow, leisurely walk she had become so accustomed to.

"Brava, little Dreamer. A magnificent display." He tucked his fingers under her chin, leaning just close enough to hint without actually kissing her. "But the encore will have to wait. Dear Ignis has come looking for you."


	64. Fool's Choice

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######  _23 January, 761:_

Iris had been in Hammerhead sorting out new hunters. Cor would be angry no matter what she did. But Ignis… she shouldn't have left Ignis in Lestallum alone. Not without telling him. Not without saying  _something_. What had she been thinking?

Very little.

Of course he had followed. He was waiting at the edge of the city when they emerged, and though he stood beneath a flickering streetlight, unmoving and outwardly composed, she could see tension in the little things: he gripped his cane a little tighter—he didn't even have it on the ground, he was just holding it like he had forgotten it was anything but an outlet; his chin was on his chest and he was too still. Relaxation loosened people; stress turned them to statues.

"Reina?"

His head lifted when her boots crunched in the gravel. She took his hands in hers, squeezing his wrists, tracing the line up his arms and hugging him around his neck. None of the words she could have said were sufficient. This was all she could give him: her chest pressed to his as she stood on her toes, her face against his neck, her breath on his skin in a wordless apology.

He wrapped his arms around her. She felt the tension drain out of him like water from an over-full balloon.

"How touching." Ardyn had followed her.

She hadn't forgotten about him—she could no more forget his presence than she could forget the other side of herself, however much she wanted to.

Ignis tensed once more, hands closing against her back.

"It's alright." Reina lifted her face to kiss him, keenly aware of the fact that Ardyn had kissed  _her_ not thirty minutes before.

And that she hadn't tried to discourage him.

The tension didn't disappear again, but Ignis did kiss her back. Right up until a blade appeared in the gap between their necks.

Reina broke away, grabbing Ardyn's wrist before he moved his sword one way or the other. He pulled against her just enough to keep the blade pressed to Ignis' neck, even as Ignis stepped back.

"Stop it." Reina dragged at Ardyn's arm and summoned her naginata in her free hand.

Was she really going to fight him after that… whatever had just happened between them? Could she?

But she couldn't watch him kill Ignis, either. It wasn't as if she  _could_ kill Ardyn, even if she tried, anyway.

"If I can't have you… neither can he." Ardyn didn't release the pressure of his blade on Ignis' throat.

Ignis stepped back until his feet hit a fallen pillar. One more step and he would tumble heels over head. Reina ducked under Ardyn's arm and lifted her naginata, thrusting her weight against his blade and forcing Ardyn back, instead.

"I said  _stop it_." She stepped in front of Ignis, reaching one hand back to find his. He squeezed her fingers to let her know he was alright.

"It's time to make a choice, little Dreamer." Ardyn released his blade, but he took a step forward toward her so that Reina was caught between him and Ignis. "You know I'll only be tempted to take poor Ignis' head off until you do."

They were  _not_ doing this.

Ignis' hold on her hand tightened, but he said nothing.

"Who will it be, little Dreamer? The man who knows everything about you—your deepest secrets, your darkest desires—who embraces all of you, who can give you everything you have ever wanted…? Or the man who can't see what's right in front of his nose?" He reached out, just brushing her chin with his fingertips. "I will abide by whatever choice, but you must choose… for dear Ignis' sake."

Choose or have him hunt Ignis until one of them was dead. Choose or spend the rest of her reign worrying about leaving Ignis alone, because Ardyn could be anywhere.

If she chose Ardyn, Ignis would be safe.

If she chose Ignis, Ardyn left him alone but…

But he had loaned her magic that he could take away.

He controlled the daemons, who hadn't attacked a settlement in years.

He could bring Father back.

Her hand slipped from Ignis' and she took a step forward. Ardyn followed each step, fingers brushing her jawline and down her neck. She let him. And she stepped forward again, until the motion put her against his chest.

"You know my heart," she said.

Perhaps Ignis would understand. Perhaps he wouldn't. Perhaps this was the day when he understood why everyone else had come to despise her. But the choice was made. And, like every other terrible decision she had made that had pushed her allies away, one by one, until the only one left was her enemy, she did it for the greater good.

It was better this way.

"But of course I do." Now Ardyn caught her chin in his hand; now he stooped, just enough that his lips brushed hers when he spoke. "How fortunate that you do, as well."

Better that Ignis was free of her before he found what she truly was. Better that he had a chance to be with someone who could give him everything he deserved. Better that he hate her.

"If this is truly what you want…" Ignis said.

She forced herself to turn around and look at him. He couldn't see the look on her face as she fought back pain and tears. It wasn't what she wanted. But it was what she needed to do, for everyone's sake.

"I'm sorry, Ignis…"

How could words ever say what she meant?

"I understand," he said.

"Shhh, don't cry, little Dreamer." Ardyn's arm was around her waist, his cheek against hers. "These people will never understand you as I do. And I will give you everything."

She felt his presence fading even before the miasma came; she could feel his magic inside hers.

"Together, we can do anything…" Then it rose up like a black fog, prickling across her skin, as his skin blackened and dissolved. "...and make this world whatever you want…"

And he was gone. He had what he wanted, no reason to linger. He had staked his claim and now she was his. Somehow it felt like that—possession.

Now it was just her and Ignis, left alone once more.

"Ignis…" She didn't want to step forward, but she forced herself to.

"Reina."

"I know what I have done is unforgivable, but…"

But what? But she was still hoping somewhere, deep down, that he would still trust her? That years of his support and unwavering faith left her feeling cold and empty in its absence? But she had done it for him and for everyone else?

Nothing made it better.

"There is nothing to forgive," he said.

"There… what?"

"Reina." He took a step forward, closing the distance between them and making a motion as if to touch her face, but stopped himself. "When I said I would always trust you, always be beside you, I meant it. This changes nothing. You have made a choice and, though I wish we lived in circumstances where it was not necessary, I trust that you made the correct choice."

She caught his hand before he dropped it. How could he say that, after what she had done? How could he still be willing to follow her? How could he still love her?

None of her excuses justified her behavior, but they spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them, anyway.

"If I turned him away… so much of Lucis is only safe because of his favor. I don't know—"

Ignis squeezed her fingers. "I know. There comes a time when every ruler must make a choice between what they would like and what is best for their kingdom. And, whatever you believe—whatever you will others to believe—I have always trusted that you would do what was best for your people. I expect nothing less from you."

He made it sound like a selfless choice—like she had sacrificed her personal life for the best interests of the kingdom. It was a shame, then, that she knew it wasn't true.

"Ignis—"

"No. Listen to me, Reina." He pressed his hand to her cheek, finding the tears and wiping them away. "I have trained my entire life to stand beside the king. I have always been prepared to take a back seat, so to speak. I place no expectations on you. I offer myself in your service, freely and unconditionally. The offer remains, now and always."

Tears fell to thick and heavy for him to dry. Reina lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. She didn't deserve this; she didn't deserve him.

"Then you'll stay?" She forced the words out around tears, voice cracking and quivering.

"Always."

She hugged him tighter, felt his arms around her in return. As much as she knew it would have been better not to accept that, to push him away so that he could find someone else—something else—she didn't. She couldn't.

They stood there until Ignis' shoulder was damp with tears.

"Know, then, that I still love you. I always will," Ignis said.

And that was it. That point where, unequivocally, with no chance of turning back, Reina cut the first of her last ties on Eos.

Back in Lestallum, Ignis moved out of her room. They both agreed it was safer for everyone, that way; Ardyn had a way of checking in on her without warning and Reina didn't want to find out what would happen if he found them together, again.

After four years of sharing a room, it felt empty without him. In spite of the fact that she most often fell asleep from the In-Between, wrapped up in a fantasy from a time before the world had gone dark with only her father for company, she still missed Ignis' presence when she woke to an empty bed. She missed him the rest of the day, as well: she missed the feel of his hand on her knee beneath the council chamber; she missed his constant presence at her side; she missed his steady insistence that she wasn't the monster she knew she was.

But it was better this way. It was better for Ignis.

And she wasn't left entirely alone. Ardyn was with her, even when he wasn't visible. They were tied together with magic and blood and she wouldn't have known how to break that even if she wanted to. She could always find him. She could always hear him. She could always make herself heard.

He came when she called—and sometimes when she didn't—without reservation. And he made the emptiness of her rooms that much less stark.


	65. Corruption

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######  _24 March, 761:_

One morning near the start of spring, as the cold weather was turning warmer, Sania called Reina and the council to an unscheduled meeting. She rolled into the city in the sort of rush that had the most important people in Lucis assembled within ten minutes—and not in a good way.

At least she had the good sense not to keep them waiting, once they were all present.

"We expanded the testing to ten thousand—all healthy adults—with roughly half of those then being exposed to the Starscourge." Sania hesitated. She folded her hands on top of the table and inspected them, instead of looking up at Reina. "Unfortunately… many of them are showing signs of infection."

"How many is 'many'?" Reina asked.

"About… three thousand, Your Highness." The only reason her response was even audible was because the rest of the room was dead silent. Even then, Reina questioned what she had heard.

"Three  _thousand_?"

"Yes, Your Highness…"

"What is the probability that the rest of those who were exposed simply haven't shown signs of infection, yet?" Reina leaned forward in her chair.

Sania finally looked up. She licked her dry lips and glanced along the table before her gaze settled on Reina again.

"Probably even odds, Your Highness."

One twentieth of their  _entire population_ exposed to the scourge and Sania had no assurance that all of them wouldn't fall ill?

"We have taken a risk with this whole idea," said Cor.

Three thousand people, at least, sentenced to death. Four thousand, statistically. For the greater good.

"What was the demographic for the test group?" Weskham asked.

"Healthy adults between the age of twenty and fifty," said Sania.

The only way out of that facility was through the morgue because no one had ever recovered from the Starscourge. Might as well just kill them now as a mercy.

"Those are our hunters. Our workers. The  _entire kingdom_ is built on their backs, and you're telling us that three thousand of them are now dead?" Cor asked.

"Ah, well… they're not dead  _yet_. Maybe—maybe we can still find a cure. I don't know what went wrong, yet, but I can find it." Sania's words were growing more rapid—not defensive but terrified.

The only people who had ever cured the Starscourge were the Oracles.

"Years you've been working on a cure and never growing closer. These people are as good as dead," Cor growled.

No.

Not the only ones.

Reina rose from her chair. "Go ahead. I will meet you there."

"Your Highness?" Sania rose to her feet, but didn't move.

"Go," said Reina.

She went.

"Reina?" Ignis reached out to touch her hand.

"What do you mean to do?" Cor was on his feet, as well.

She didn't let Ignis catch her, didn't let him hold her back. She stepped away toward the door.

"Cure them."

Maybe half the council followed, but Reina only noticed Ignis because he kept so close at her heels. Years of experience and he could do that even without seeing her.

"Reina." He caught her arm before she dropped into her car. "Tell me you are not planning what I think you are planning."

"I'd rather not lie to you unless strictly necessary, Ignis."

"This will infect  _you_ , Reina." He squeezed her arm tighter, until each of his fingers pressed pain into her bicep. Despite that, she didn't try to pull away. "This is what destroyed  _him_."

"I know."

"Don't do this." He laid his other hand against her face, cupping her cheek. "Please don't do this."

"I cannot simply let them die."

Those were people. Yes, they were each an asset to Lucis, but more than that—they were brothers and sons, sisters and daughters. They were mothers. They were fathers.

"Just because you see yourself in him doesn't mean you need to strive to follow in his footsteps," Ignis said.

Reina shut her eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers.

"Please," he said, "We will find another way."

But there was no other way. There never had been—not for her.

"I'm sorry, Ignis." She stepped back and phased through his grip.

"Reina—!"

She shut the car door before he could try to catch her again. If she didn't leave now, she would lose her nerve and she couldn't afford to do that. She threw her car into reverse and pulled straight back, out of the waiting gate. Ignis took a step forward, hand outstretched. Luckily, he was still far enough back that she didn't clip him on the way out.

The night air was cold on her skin, but she didn't roll up the windows. Just at the edge of her headlights she could see the swirl of miasma as daemons materialized. None made a move for her car.

"Ardyn… I need you…"

The black fog curled in through the open window, filling the car. The miasma condensed in the front seat. Ardyn tipped his hat from his head and brushed it off.

"And so I am here." He reached across and traced one finger along the scar that curled from her ear down her neck.

"I need to know how to cure the Starscourge."

"By killing yours truly. But you knew that." He dropped his hand and shifted so he sat sideways in his seat, leaning forward toward her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his narrow-eyed gaze as he scrutinized her. "What are you  _really_  asking, little Dreamer?"

"How to heal a  _person_."

Or three thousand.

He was silent long enough that she pulled her eyes from the road and hazarded a glance at him. His expression was unreadable, beyond pensive.

Finally, he said: "They won't thank you, you know."

"I don't need their thanks."

"With each life you restore, you'll lose a little more of yourself. You think they fear you now? It is  _nothing_ to how they will view you after. Tainted. Corrupt.  _Daemon_. And then you become the problem that you've spent so long trying to fix."

"I know."

_It's better this way_.

He continued to stare at her with that thoughtful, unreadable look. Then he flicked her hair back and dragged his fingers down her jawline.

"I'll show you how to save your people, little Dreamer," he said.

"Thank you."

"And then, when your work is done, I will teach you what took me a thousand years to learn." Ardyn sat back in his seat and stretched out his arm so it hung across her shoulders.

The remainder of the drive was quiet; they knew how to sit in the silence with each other. What words needed to be exchanged when they were so closely bound?

No one stopped them. Neither the daemons on the side of the road, nor the hunters at the outpost gate. If anyone thought it odd that Reina was pulling inside with Ardyn… well. At least they didn't make any comments where she could hear.

Inside the walls, it was eerily deserted. The large compound to the right—a warehouse repurposed into a sort of communal dormitory—showed the only real signs of life. So that was where Reina went. And where Reina went, Ardyn followed, each of his steps slow and leisurely, as if he was walking to some inaudible tune.

The door to the dormitory opened before Reina reached it.

"Your Highness—I only just arrived, myself," Sania said.

"That's fine. Show me in."

"Inside the hospital…?"

"Yes." Reina glanced over her shoulder at Ardyn, who was just now catching up. "How many at once?"

"My, my, but aren't we eager? Perhaps we should begin with  _one_ , and once you have the understanding…" He spread his hands. "You are free to apply it however you like."

Sania glanced between them, mouth slightly open.

" _Now_ , Dr Yeagre," Reina said.

"Ah. Yes. Alright." She held the door for them.

Inside was an entry way of sorts—a room to serve as the intermediary between the facility and the outside world. Rows of white coats and shelves full of gloves and masks lined the walls. The door farther in opened and a person emerged, covered nearly from head-to-toe in protective gear. That was their destination.

"Your Highness—!" Sania took a step like she wanted to stop Reina from reaching for the door, but wasn't going to risk actually touching her. "You can't go in there without proper protection."

"It isn't going to matter." Reina pulled the door open, ignoring the objections from behind her and slipping inside with Ardyn at her heels.

Here there were rows and rows of cots. People lay, or sat, or stood and paced; some showed blackened veins and paling eyes, others had a rattling cough deep in their chest, and still others looked—for the moment—entirely healthy. Eyes turned when she entered.

"Your Highness…"

A murmur ran through them.

"The princess."

"Princess Reina—"

And broke into a babble.

Reina ignored it all; if what she meant to do worked then they would need little more explanation than the action. If it didn't, then… well. It was better not to get their hopes up.

"How do I do this?" She asked Ardyn.

He was moving already, eyes fixed on the man who lay on the nearest cot, struggling to sit up. When he did manage to sit up, Ardyn grabbed his chin and turned his head this way and that, inspecting the dark web of veins that stretched up his neck. Then he turned and motioned her forward. He released the man's chin.

"You mastered—with very little intervention on my part, I might add—the control of daemons," Ardyn said as she joined him. He moved so he stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. "This is the same. It is a daemon, after all. Or the start of one."

"But the soul is  _his_ ," Reina glanced at Ardyn, painfully aware that everyone in the room was watching them—listening to them.

Ardyn laughed. "Do you believe daemons have souls, little Dreamer?"

She hadn't really considered, before. "I… don't know."

"Of course they don't." He leaned forward to speak against her ear. "They are the absence of life and light; they devour souls and leave nothing in their place."

A disturbing thought. If so many had fallen to the Starscourge… it meant they were gone in the most permanent sense. Not even their soul had reached the Beyond.

She lifted her hand, shutting her eyes and feeling for the scourge. No bright line of red connected her to the man; she had nothing to pull on or  _call_. But she looked deeper. There, wrapped up with the white of life, was a growing web of corruption. And she  _could_ call that. She could gather up the strands and pull them away…

A visible black mist rose up from his skin, causing a collective murmur among the onlookers. The miasma drifted up for a moment, then shifted, moving directly toward Reina like air sucked in by a vacuum. It didn't  _burn_ when it hit her chest—not like the magic from the ring did—but it was cold.

When she opened her eyes, the man was running his hands over his face and staring at her in awe. The darkness was gone from his skin, the pale veil from his eyes. Reina spun to look up at Ardyn. Where everyone else gaped at her, he smiled.

"Very good, little Dreamer." He pressed one finger beneath her chin and leaned down to kiss her. "Now do it again."

It would take hours to go through three thousand people one at a time. Perhaps days. But now that she knew what she was looking for…

Strictly speaking, it wasn't necessary to motion with her hands, but it still felt more intuitive to physically  _grasp_ , so she stretched out both hands, this time, and gathered up every strand of red within range. She pulled it from those who lay, coughing and unable to walk; she pulled it from those who were just beginning to show lightless eyes; she even dragged the little tendrils from those people who hadn't showed any signs, yet.

And she took it all.

This time, it did hurt.

Too much cold, all at once. It burned in her chest until she thought her heart would stop, and then it spread, an aching throb in her veins—so  _cold_ , so pounding she just wished it would go away. And it did. As it grew colder and colder still, the ache faded to numbness. If that had been her hand in the snow, she knew frostbite came next. But she pulled. And she pulled.

And she pulled.

She pulled until every strand, every string of scourge was black in  _her_ veins, rather than in her people.

It filled her eyes with black ichor until the whites were black and ice-blue irises were stark against them. It filled her mouth and she tasted bile. And it spilled out—too much to contain in one person—until she could feel it dripping—cold and thick—down her face.

The world lurched.

Reina stumbled and felt warm hands pulling her back, enveloping her, wrapping her up. She had to blink through the blackness before her vision cleared; she looked up in time to see every person in the room taking a step back from her. Two steps back from her—as many steps as they possibly could until they were all crowded at the opposite end of the room. She lifted one hand to her cheek and her fingers came away wet, like she had been crying black tears.

That was—

She looked up at Ardyn. He didn't look at her like she was a monster, like he thought she was going to eat his soul. He just smiled.

"Oh, Reina…" He dragged his cheek over hers and held her tighter. "You truly are the rival of the Gods."

Miasma swirled around them. It was in her as much as it was in him, and soon it was surrounding them both, obscuring her vision of those people she had cured. Those people who had watched her become what they feared most. And then  _everything_ was black.

It was a bit like dropping into the In-Between—that was the sensation of disconnect, of loss of physicality. But she knew they weren't in the In-Between. They were still in the physical… they just weren't solid. She had the sensation of motion, more than the knowledge of it. Without eyes or ears or nose the only thing she could sense was magic and scourge. And Ardyn.

Ardyn, wrapping her up; safe. Ardyn, pulling her along; leading her.

Now they were in the darkness outside. Now Insomnia. Now the Citadel. Now the throne room.

Reina's feet hit the tile floor; her legs formed after and everything from there up until all of her was standing hundreds of miles away from where she had been. And Ardyn was with her, holding her around her waist and around her shoulders, pressing his face to hers. She clutched at his arms and tried to breathe but her lungs were full of liquid corruption and it left no space for air.

She choked instead. She coughed, doubling over as far as he would let her until the blackness spilled from her mouth and hit the tiles at her feet. And still she couldn't breathe.

So this is how she would die…

It scared her more than it should have. More than she had thought it would. Not death, but that one little comment that Ardyn had made just—minutes? Hours?—ago.

" _They devour souls and leave nothing in their place."_

If she was host to the daemons—if she was soulless, if not mindless—she would never reach the Beyond.

She would never see Father again.

"Kill—" She forced the words out, choking, around the ichor. "—Kill me. Don't let me turn."

"Shhh, little Dreamer…" She couldn't see anymore—everything was just black—but she could hear his voice like velvet in her ears. "They won't take your soul. You are much too strong for that."

What did that even mean?

"Look inside," Ardyn said. "It is everywhere… taking over. But  _you control the scourge_. I have gifted you that."

Reina forced her numbing brain to do as he instructed. Everything inside her was webs of red, stretching over every inch of her. She fought for air—too shallow, too little—and tried to focus on them. If she could just get a hold of them…

They slipped from her grasp, snakes and oil, and her head throbbed. Her vision dimmed. Without air she couldn't cough. If she didn't cough, her lungs had no space for air.

But if she gave up she would never see her father again.

She stopped trying to breathe. She gathered up everything that remained of her strength, everything that remained of her reach, and forced her will upon the red strands. They snapped into lines and she grasped at them, one fistful after another, pulling them away from the vital parts, gathering them up into one, thick rope of scourge.

And she breathed.

A breath so sharp it stung in her lungs and made her head spin. If he hadn't been holding her, she would have been on the floor. She clutched at his arms as she took another breath and another. Lights exploded on the edges of her vision. Her legs shook; her arms trembled. No matter how much air she drew, she still. Couldn't. Breathe.

"Shh, shh, shh, Little Dreamer." His hands covered her nose and mouth, forcing her to breathe more shallowly. "You have already won."

Slowly—so slowly—her vision began to clear. The throne room was dark around them—the tiles black, but that splatter of ichor somehow even blacker. She lifted one shaking hand to touch her face. Still black. Still wet. But the scourge was—

"Coil it up. Keep it inside. The rest of the world believes it a curse, but we know the truth, you and I." Ardyn lowered his hands, but only once she was breathing. "It is power."

She did as he said, focusing and condensing the string of scourge until it sat within her… inert, but cold—waiting, like the hot energy in the ring and crystal. Power.

She twisted in his arms, pressing blackened hands against his chest and looking up at him. "My eyes?"

He dragged his thumb over her cheek, tracing the bone that outlined her eye. "White… and beautiful."

Reina shut her burning eyes and balled her fists against his chest. He pulled her closer. She let him, because she wanted to be held; she wanted to tuck beneath his chin and stay there forever. How could she ever go back? Soon, all of Lucis would know what had happened. It wouldn't matter that she had saved thousands of lives; they would only remember that she was corrupted.

Some Queen of Lucis she made.

Lucis.

What an unfitting name.

Her kingdom was darkness and death.


	66. Left Behind

__

######  _March - September, 761:_

When Iris returned from the field, Ignis told her everything: how Dr Yeagre's vaccine group had all gotten the Starscourge and Reina had gone charging off to save them. Iris wanted to be angry with him for not keeping her. He  _should_ have stopped her. Iris would have stopped her. And Cor—why the hell was Iris the only one concerned with Reina's well-being anymore?

Except she knew it wasn't so simple. She knew she was just looking for someone to blame because she didn't want to pin it on the only person who was really responsible.

Reina had done this to herself. Every choice she made, every step she took down that path took her farther and farther away from them and eventually she was so far away none of them could reach her, anymore. She had already kicked Ignis out of her room. That wasn't his fault. That wasn't anyone's fault but her own. He still tried to follow, but it was too late.

And Iris wanted to shout at Cor because he had never even tried to reach Reina, but she knew that wasn't true, either. Of course he had tried. Maybe it looked different for him, but Cor always did things differently. It didn't mean he had ever loved her any less, that he hadn't done his best.

And  _Iris_. She could have blamed it all on herself, too, but Gods knew she had given everything she had, thrown herself after Reina as hard as she could, dragged her back as far as possible.

It hadn't been enough.

They had word from the treatment facility; Sania radioed ahead to say that everyone was cured—not a trace of Starscourge so far as anyone could see—but that they would keep everyone confined for testing, just to be sure. She said Reina had disappeared with Ardyn—just sort of… dissolved, like daemons did.

She came back well past midnight. Iris knew, because she sat up on the wall waiting for her. But she didn't arrive in her car; she walked out of the miasma at the edge of the floodlights and for a moment Iris' eyes refused to interpret what she was seeing. The black mist clung to her as she stepped out of it like it didn't want to let her go.

But it wasn't just clinging to her.

It was shaping her.

She wasn't all the way solid when she stepped into the light, but the mists swirled around her, filling up the cracks. For a moment her eyes and mouth were darkened with a black ichor and every white scar across her skin was crisscrossed with a patchwork of black veins.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

She wasn't supposed to walk outside of the light on paths Iris couldn't follow her down. She wasn't supposed to make everyone love her and then throw them all away for the Starscourge incarnate. She wasn't supposed to be the sort of queen that everyone was afraid of. She wasn't supposed to sell her soul.

Iris grasped the medallion hanging from her neck.  _I'm sorry, Dad. I failed you._

The gate below slid open. Iris climbed down the narrow stair to meet Reina on the inside, though she wasn't sure she wanted to face her.

No.

She was  _sure_ she didn't want to face Reina. But she needed to.

"Rei."

Reina stopped and looked up at her. It was impossible to tell anything from her face. At least the blackness was all gone, but that haunting image was painted on the inside of Iris' eyelids. It was never going away.

Iris was still holding onto her medallion. She didn't hear his voice and she knew it didn't take her any closer to him, by now. But sometimes having that weight in her hand was enough to remind her—

"You remember that time we sat on the roof and you told me to stop wishing I could see my dad again?" Iris asked.

—that she was already close enough—

"Yes."

—and she already knew what he would have told her, if he could have:

"You were right. I knew Dad and he would be proud of me. I don't need to keep following you down this road to make that true."

' _This is not your fault, flower. It never was.'_

Reina nodded, slowly, unsurprised. Of course she wasn't surprised; she always said Iris would leave eventually. She had always known.

"I will not try to stop you from walking away," Reina said. "I'm only sorry to tell you that you were wrong: I couldn't do it."

Iris' brow furrowed. "How can you still be waiting for him after all these years?"

"I'm not. I never have to wait for him again."

Pieces clicked together in Iris' mind. Reina: speaking to the Lucii. Reina: mastering the power of the ring overnight. Reina: spending so much time in her room alone.

"How could you do that to yourself?! To  _us_? You should have just let him go and all of this would have been okay!" She was standing in the parking lot shouting at the queen like she was fifteen again and the world wasn't fair.

Of course it wasn't fair.

"I told you. Given the choice I would have done the same thing every time, even knowing the price I pay for it."

"I can't do this anymore, Rei." Iris shook her head. "I can't do it. I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. If you wanna be some daemon queen ruling Lucis from the shadows then… just don't take anyone else with you."

Reina just kept staring at her. She might never say anything. She didn't, sometimes, so Iris just turned around and walked away. She would requisition a truck and go out to Hammerhead with the rest of the hunters; Queen's Shield no longer.

But:

"I have been trying to leave everyone behind since the start," Reina said, barely a whisper.

Iris rounded on her one last time, trying to keep the angry tears from spilling down her cheeks. "Well congratulations, then. You did it! First you broke Ignis' heart, now mine. Have you done Cor, yet? He's really just a big softie underneath. I'll bet if you sink that dagger into his gut and twist it'll hurt him just as much as it did the rest of us." She turned around again, shaking her head. "Bye, Rei."

Reina didn't try to stop her. Iris didn't look back.

* * *

Inevitably, Reina did return to Lestallum.

Iris was waiting for her when the gate opened; she hadn't been expecting that, but she wasn't surprised to learn that Iris had finally given up on her. The only surprising part about it was that it had taken so long.

' _They won't thank you, you know_.'

She walked away, never looking back. It was just as well. If she had, she might have seen the look of regret on Reina's face.

"Goodbye, Iris. Sister."

And that was that. The second of her last ties. Cut.

The rest of Lestallum looked on her unfavorably, as well. That was expected.

By that time her face was clean and her eyes were clear, all trace of the Starscourge tucked up inside, but it didn't matter. They knew what she was. Their eyes followed when she walked through the streets; no one greeted her, no one bowed, no one waved; they only stepped back.

It was the same inside the Leville. Monica didn't smile, Dustin averted his gaze, and Cor didn't even try to hide his disdain.

Prompto and Gladio—when they came through town—avoided her like everyone else did. Sometimes she caught the looks they shot her when they thought she couldn't see, and she knew they thought the same as Cor. Reina was dead to them. She was just a shell filled up with daemons.

But it was better this way.

From that day forth she spent less time in Lestallum and more in Insomnia. All she had to do was step out into the darkness and the Starscourge would carry her home.

_Home_.

As if the broken shell of the Crown City was still her home. But it was the closest she had—the closest she had to a place to fit and a place to be.

Ardyn didn't look at her like she was a monster. Probably because he was one, too, but he was what he had been made. Reina had made these choices for herself. She was what  _she_ had made.

She returned to Lestallum only when necessary. As Iris had so aptly put it, she ruled from the shadows. The Daemon Queen. A fitting moniker. Perhaps she would be remembered that way in history books. Or perhaps she would be blotted out from Lucis' history altogether, as Ardyn had been, forgotten in the ages to come. Only time would tell and Reina didn't care to look that far ahead. She knew enough of the future, already.

She attended council rarely. Ignis would still speak with her, but every time he did Reina couldn't help but remember Iris' words. Had it hurt him as much as she claimed?

Stupid. Of course it had. Just because he hadn't told her didn't mean it wasn't torture for him.

Poor Ignis. She should have spared him this from the start. If she could have, she would have spared them all.

But this was all she could do for him.


	67. Let's Kill Bahamut

__

######  _23 September, 761:_

At last she was his.

_His_ Dreamer.

_His_ queen.

He wouldn't suffer Ignis or any other to stand between them ever again. He drew her away, day by day, week by week, month by month until she belonged to  _him_  and no other. Body. Mind. And soul.

Already she pulled away from them and ran to his arms, instead. Soon, he would be her sole refuge. The only one who knew; the only one who understood because  _they were the same_.

The Gods had cast her aside for her brother, as well, tried to sideline her and deny her the power that was hers by right. Year after year they had convinced her that she wasn't  _worth it_ , that she didn't  _deserve it_. And she had believed them. Until he came. And opened her eyes. And whispered the truth in her ear.

He might have done it all on his own. He might have killed Noctis and ended Somnus' line, proving, once and for all, that the man they had cast aside was still better than the one they had bred to take his place. He might have set right every wrong that the Astrals had created. But what more could he do with her at his side?

Anything. Everything.

And, come to think of it, there was  _one_ wrong that still needed to be righted.

When she wasn't with him, most often he could find her in Lestallum. Even when she was elsewhere, he knew—he felt her; he traced her; he followed where she went. No place she walked was forbidden to him. They were one.

So he stood outside her walls and called to her. And she came. Standing in the dark but wreathed in light. Dark and terrible. Bright and wonderful. Magnificent.  _Beautiful_.

"Come with me, little Dreamer." He held out his arms and she was in them.

"Where?" She looked up at him with eyes so pale they were nearly white.

"To lay to rest a threat to Eos. One that should have been eliminated centuries ago." He traced a twisting scar across her cheek. Not a flaw. Never a flaw. They were marks of power and strength, of survival, of perseverance.

"Come with me to kill the Draconian."

Surprise on her quiet face. He smiled because it was beautiful. He smiled because she gave the response he had known she would give. The only response she  _could_ give.

"Let's go."

They left the lights and eyes followed. Hundreds stared as she and he passed out of sight. Fool humans. Even now they had no idea how much she had done for them—how much  _he_ had done for them.

Let them stare. Let them all marvel at the combined power of their king and queen.

Ardyn pressed his hand between her shoulder blades, then slid lower over stiff fabric and taut muscles. She should have been wearing a gown. A second skin, graceful, soft, authoritative. Soon.

They stepped through the shadows together and rematerialized on Angelgard. No Glaives stood guard, here, because she had commanded them not to. Now it was time to make good on her threats to Bahamut.

"Are you the reason that Niflheim began killing Astrals?" She broke the silence with a voice like the ring of metal on metal—clear, decisive… dangerous.

"But of course."

She paused at the shore and looked out across the black sea. He stood behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, but he didn't look at anything except her. Her hair begged to be touched, so he did, twisting one lock around his finger. That wasn't enough. He leaned forward so his lips brushed her ear, her cheek, and traced along her jaw. If he could have just one touch, just one taste…

"And Insomnia?" Her head tilted to one side, just enough to give him access to her neck.

Oh,  _Insomnia_.

"Iedolas was unhinged. Simple, really, to convince him  _he_ was Chosen and the Lucians were keeping the crystal from him. And how better to eliminate all but the last of Somnus' line, and give the little prince something to fight for?"

Her neck, soft against his lips, and…

"But you didn't."

...sweet on his tongue.

"No. Such a shame that the last Caelum turned out to be so like the first. I suppose my good genes were bound to turn up again, eventually, in one hundred and fourteen generations."

"Not quite the last," she said.

Tsk.  _Noctis_.

" _Soon to be_ the last." He traced his fingers up her neck and grasped her chin, turning her face toward him. He kissed her sweet lips and she didn't object—neither to the action nor the words. "After this, the only Astral left on Eos will be corrupted by my own hand. And after  _that,_ the last of their ties to this world will be cut by the death of your brother. No more Astrals. No more curse on our bloodline. After Noctis dies, Lucis is free."

She turned toward him, putting her hands on his chest so that his arms wrapped around her. "But you'll bring him back."

"But of course, little Dreamer." He smiled. "When this world is ours, I will make anything you want."

She stared up at him through eyes nearly white, and slid her hands up his shoulders. "Then let's kill Bahamut."

He stooped to take her mouth, but only broke away partway to speak. "First promise you'll come back to Insomnia, after."

"Permanently?"

"They won't want you back, you know."

Silence for a moment. Perhaps she hadn't thought that far ahead—but no. The look on her face said she had always known it would come to that.

"Why waste your time on those who don't appreciate it?" He asked.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him. Then: "Let's go" —which was an affirmative, even if she didn't say so.

They went.

One last Astral. One last death before Eos was free of them, before his kingdom could flourish without their petulant aid. The penultimate piece in the mosaic commemorating Ardyn's reign.

He could feel the reverberating hum in the island. Godlike in power, perhaps, but she and he had risen above that. It was time to see how the Draconian fared against the combined might of the Caelums—two thousand years of blood and honed edges.

He turned and held his hand out to her. "Stand with me, little Dreamer, against the last Astral."

She put her hand in his.

_They_  were unstoppable.

_They_ were Godlike.

They were  _Gods_.

This arena was made for them. A testing ground, a summoning ground, a place of worship. Today it would become a place of death.

"O Draconian, do be a good boy and join us. I have a bone to pick."

This place was a tangle of magic. Strands forged when the first covenant was made—most of them were thin and frayed, now connecting him only to the spirits of Astrals already dead. But one remained, strong and bright. Ardyn pulled on it, now. Let Bahamut come when called, like the lap dog he was.

A good dog could never resist the call of its master.

The Draconian dropped from the sky on bladed wings.

"Ah,  _there_ you are. The others I could leave to the machines and the daemons—fitting, don't you think? You tainted mankind with a plague that turned them into monsters. Then those monsters killed your brethren. Oh—except for the one I tainted. I think I'll keep him. He's ever so obedient."

"Accursed fool, fallen king. This war is not one thou can win."

"Thankfully, I've made a friend."

Ah,  _Reina_. Beautiful, glorious Reina, standing beside him and looking up at the Draconian as if  _he_ had killed her father.

"Oh, but don't you remember? Shall I introduce you? O Draconian, this is the child you cast aside as surplus—unnecessary, unneeded, an  _accident_. After all, what good is one when they have a  _brother_?" He brushed his fingers down Reina's arm, taking her hand and lifting her fingers to his lips. "O Dreamer Queen, I present to you Bahamut—the scourge upon your world, destroyer of your kingdom, killer of your people." He dropped his voice and leaned closer to her. "What shall we do with him, little Dreamer?"

"What anyone would do with a pest," she said.

"Thy people will suffer for thine hubris."

"Oh yes. Because that worked out  _so well_ for you last time," Ardyn said. "But Astrals are as stone. Slow to change, lacking of intelligence, and completely devoid of the capacity to learn. If you could, you would have remembered what happens when you discard a Caelum."

He released Reina's hand and reached, instead, for the sky—or the Beyond, as the case was. The Glaives leapt to his call, a circle of spectral weapons painted a lovely crimson. They gave him wings.

To his right, he felt the pull of her power. They were bound together, now; he could feel her magic whenever she called it—an extension of his own—like vibrations in the same harp string. The glaives that surrounded her glowed with violet light—all fourteen of them. Violet. Fitting. She wasn't just Lucian anymore; she wasn't just the blue fire of Eos' light, but the crimson of the Starscourge as well. She was everything. The light and the dark combined within her.

From the surprise on her face, she hadn't summoned the Armiger since taking on the scourge.

"Fly with me, little Dreamer. Tonight we make right a three thousand year old wrong."

She set aside any concerns about the color of her magic and took his hand. And they were one. He tied his strings to hers, wrapped up in her magic, tangled them together until there was no telling where one stopped and the other began; the two circles of the Armiger formed a lemniscate around them.

Together, they were half the size of one of Bahamut's hands. Together, they had twice the power of his whole being. When Ardyn leapt, Reina leapt. When he flew, she flew. When crimson glaives swung, so, too, did violet ones.

Bahamut was too big—too unwieldy. His sword cleaved them apart, separating their hands but never their souls. And then he was left with no choice but to haul his massive blade from the crack in the earth and try again. Too slow.

Ardyn laughed. He threw out his hand and spectral weapons responded, cutting through Bahamut's armor as if it wasn't there at all. They flew, they streaked, they struck, leaving a masterpiece of red and purple lines in the night air, punctuating their artwork with fire and ice—a blast, a burst, a streak of light.

And it took that long for Bahamut to raise his sword again.  _God_ , they called him. Fools.

Soon they wouldn't call him anything but  _dead_. Like the rest of his pathetic kind.

Ardyn swept up, avoiding a clumsy horizontal strike from a sword as big as a mountain range. He met her in the air overhead and spun, arm around her waist, until they were one again. Now their glaives moved together, two lines parallel and pacing each other, striking twice for every motion while the Draconian flailed about like a fat man trying to swat a wasp. Their connection didn't make evasion any more difficult. They were one and the same. Her magic pulled on his and his on hers; she didn't move in  _reaction_ to him, she moved in  _unison_  with him because they shared the same thoughts, ideas, and desires.

Bahamut had no chance of striking them. Angelgard shook with his impotent rage while Ardyn shook with laughter.

Fire cracked across the Draconian's armor—black and red and violet—leaping and climbing, finding every nick and every notch. It crept inside and burned deeper than skin. It crept inside and singed what little was left of Bahamut's soul. If they could have seen a face behind that mask, instead of just eyes, what would they have seen? Fear? Regret? Repentance?

It didn't matter, of course. He might have prostrated himself on the earth and begged forgiveness but it only would have earned him a swifter death. That, in itself, was a mercy.

Ardyn was tired of seeing those eyes. They were too human—too real. The first time he had looked into the Draconian's face, he felt kinship and connection. Now he understood it was just mockery. A form made to appeal and relate. A lie. Just like everything else the Astrals stood for.

He flicked his wrist and four glaives shot out, Reina's keeping pace with his. Try as he might, Bahamut couldn't evade, couldn't lift one armored hand in time. The blades plunged into him—two in each eye—and crimson-violet flames burst from his mask while he  _screamed_.

Not enough.

Not enough pain. Not enough suffering. Nothing held a candle to what they had put Ardyn through.  _Two thousand years_  he had lain, rotting, aching, plotting. It was just a shame that the Draconian  _could_ die. He would know peace too soon.

Ardyn lifted his hands and darkness climbed up Bahamut's legs in tendrils laced with red… and purple. Now her magic called the scourge as easily as his did.

Black taint stretched from the earth and darkened the Draconian's armor. It wasn't covered; it wasn't coated. It was transformed. Let him taste the  _righteous retribution_ he had unleashed upon mankind before he lay dead at their feet. It consumed him while he thrashed, sword swinging wildly. All they had to do was shift an inch to this side or that to avoid it. Soon the scourge took Bahamut's chest and his arms; his sword fell away with a resounding crash, which echoed across the sea. When it climbed up his neck and dripped from his face, he gave one last, guttural, scream before his mouth and lungs filled with black ichor.

"Now, little Dreamer, show me your power—the power they denied you for so long. How fitting that you should use it to end the reign of the Astrals." He held her against his chest as they hung in the air, amid a double circle of Armiger; her legs pressed on either side of one of his.

She held out her hand and the Ring of the Lucii glowed on her finger—red light, never blue; wasn't that telling?—but her perfect face remained turned upward toward Ardyn.

Reality cracked around them. He felt her tear down the walls that she and he so often—so seamlessly—slipped through to the In-Between. The hole she cut was bigger than any before—big enough to fit an Astral through. And it did. It  _pulled_ at Bahamut and, though the tainted Astral resisted through some misdirected sense of self-preservation, it dragged him in.

It pulled at them, too, not content only to eat one God, today. The pillars of the arena cracked and flew past them, sucked into the In-Between. Swords that had been embedded in the stone for hundreds of years narrowly missed the pair of them. Ever-burning blue flames in braziers puffed out as the air and even the magic was sucked out of them.

Ardyn held to her and she to him. Still she stared at him, even as she held the world open, and he saw on her face a mixture of temptation and resignation. What if she didn't close it? What if they both went in and ended this too-long life?

"Not yet, little Dreamer." He caught her chin in his hand, taking the upturn of her face as an invitation. And he kissed her. He tasted her mouth and felt her lips—hot and soft—against his. Not resistant. Responsive.

Slowly, the world knit again around them. The pull lessened. The wind quieted, and, with a burst of energy, the wall between realms was solid again.

And they hung in the air, locked together. United in so many ways.

Just one more death to go.


	68. The Last Tie

 

###### September - December, 761:

Word traveled quickly through Lestallum and beyond. The Draconian was dead—the last of the living Astrals on Eos, killed by Lucis' own queen.

As Ardyn had predicted—as she had known to be true—she wasn't much welcome in Lestallum after that. But she had to go back, eventually. The looks they gave her once they knew… she had seen those same looks on so many Lucian faces before, when the empire's Magitek soldiers marched through their cities. That was how they saw her.

It was a fitting analogy in more than one way. Reina and the 'Empty Soldiers.'

Her blank, white eyes, looking through rather than at. Her scarred skin, more like a broken porcelain doll than a real person.

And this. This was what she had done. This was what she had wanted.

But she couldn't help but wish that she  _felt_ a little emptier inside:

When Ignis bowed his head on hearing her pass, but didn't reach out to her because she had taxed even his nigh-endless understanding and trust.

When Cid shook his head with that look on his face—half disappointed, half disturbed.

When Weskham wouldn't even meet her gaze anymore.

When Gladio watched her pass with open hostility on his face.

When Prompto found every excuse not to be in Lestallum while she was.

But most of all, she wished she felt emptier inside when Cor stopped her in the hall; every trace of open affection she had once seen on his harsh features was gone—replaced by a look of disappointment and disgust.

"I'd like to say I can't believe what you've done. But the fact is that I can, which is almost more disturbing than you, by yourself," Cor told her. "So congratulations. You've managed to make me thankful that Regis is dead. At least he never had to see what you turned into."

Of all the people who hated her, he was the hardest to face. It didn't matter that he thought her father would have been disappointed in her—she knew he wasn't, she knew he understood the depravity of the Astrals. What mattered was that Cor was disappointed in her. He would never know that his approval meant more than her father's, in that moment.

"I have done what I deemed to be best." She couldn't let him see how much his words hurt.

Maybe she had done this all on purpose. Maybe it was better this way. But the cold of the Starscourge in her chest was nothing to the ache of loneliness. Was it too much, to want to be understood now and then?

"Best? Best for whom? Best for that sick bastard sitting on the throne in Insomnia? Best for whatever daemon is eating your soul? Am I even talking to Reina, anymore?"

_I'm still here, Cor,_  she thought, desperate to reach out, to tell him, to fix  _something_.

But she didn't open her mouth.

"If there is anything left of her inside… you tell her I still love her. And that… I'm sorry I failed her." He turned away, not even looking over his shoulder as he spoke the last words in an undertone, almost to himself: "I should have been stronger."

It was just as well he didn't turn back around. Not even she could keep those tears from falling.

He didn't stay in Lestallum much longer after that. He took a contingent of Glaives, against her express orders, and moved into Insomnia.

She didn't stay in Lestallum much after that, either.

Ignis was the only person who would speak to her outside of council meetings or official business, but even that was strained now. Try as he might, he could no longer think of a single reason why she might possibly join forces with Ardyn to kill an Astral. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't reach out. She couldn't tell him. Better that he hate her. Better that he believe her tainted, like everyone else did.

So she had but two places left to seek solace. Her father, still bound to her through the ring, always came when he called. He never disapproved. He never questioned if she was still in full possession of all her faculties. Every Lucii knew what had to be sacrificed in the name of the greater good, in preservation of the future. He stood by her. He supported her. He loved her unconditionally.

But he didn't understand her.

There was only one place she could go to find that.

* * *

When she came back after that crooked bastard called her out for the last time, Cor knew.

He hadn't wanted to believe—he didn't want to acknowledge what everyone was already saying—that Reina and Ardyn had killed the Draconian. But he did. And any lingering doubts he had been holding onto were shredded as soon as he laid eyes on her.

Once, just after her mother had died, he had held an infant Reina in his arms on the way to her father. She was  _so small_ —just innocence wrapped up in a little white blanket with hands too tiny to even wrap all the way around one of his fingers. He hadn't really understood, before that moment. Regis had always said the day they were born was the happiest of his life and to Cor they were just squalling and pink and pointless, but then.

Then.

Then he looked at her and he understood:

They were the future. And everyone who looked upon a child and felt that was forevermore bound to protect it. Protect the world by protecting the children.

Years later, he thought back on that moment whenever Regis made allowances or excuses for them. It didn't make any sense out of context, but with it—with that one moment and a sleeping baby—it was the only choice Regis could ever have made.

And so when Regis sent them away ahead of the Fall, knowing what was to come, Cor understood that, as well. Yes, they were the best chance for Lucis'—Eos'—survival. But they were more than that. They were Regis' children. They were his heart and his future. And whatever he swore—his life for his kingdom—he could never have chosen anything different for them than  _life_.

Decades later, he thought back on that moment—an instant of understanding amidst a storm of mourning when he looked at sleeping Reina and knew he would do  _anything_ to protect her. He thought of it when she glared daggers at him. He thought of it when she shouted at him and he shouted back.

He thought of it when she sat in his room, shivering under his coat and cried—for fear, for relief, for mourning.

And he thought of it now, looking at what she had become while his mind screamed:

_How?_

How had that infant in his arms turned into this? A daemon walking in her skin. It wasn't even her face, anymore; they had broken that, too.

She had been innocence. She had been sunshine. She had been propriety. She had been beautiful and serene—the queen that Lucis needed, even if she hadn't realized it while there was still time.

Now she was gone and he couldn't reach her. Nothing he did was enough. He doubted that it ever would be, again.

So he said his goodbyes. And he told her exactly what he felt because that was what she had taught him to do. Once that had been all she needed to bring them together. Not even that could fix what she had undone, now, but he said it anyway. That was what she would have wanted. Openness. Honesty. A raw, earnest confession even as his world ended inside the larger world ending.

He walked away without looking back.

He didn't want to remember that face as her.

###### January 762-766:

Crumbling buildings, silent streets, lightless windows—Reina had to admit there was something poetic about the emptiness. This was the Crown City of her kingdom. Once beautiful, once so full of life and potential; now it was broken and scarred.

Not so different from her.

Cor had set up a base of Glaives in the underground subway system; she hadn't seen him since he left Lestallum and she didn't intend to.

Of all the ironies in this long night, the greatest was this: here, teetering on the edge of the world, Lucis was more at peace—more safe—than it had been for hundreds of years. Niflheim was gone. What little remained of their population were now her subjects, which eliminated any concern of external conflict. Inside Lucis' borders, the daemons were little more threat than the common pests that had always been prevalent in the wild. The difference was that Reina could control the daemons—keep them away—and her range had multiplied tenfold since she took the scourge upon herself. The only other threat to Lucis was the Starscourge itself. And Reina had now proven she was its master.

That meant more than she had originally anticipated.

"Each daemon is but a source of power—if you know how to use it." Ardyn walked with her through near-empty streets. Daemons loitered, coming and going, following their progress. "So go ahead, little Dreamer. Reach out… and take one."

The energy that made up each daemon wasn't unlike the scourge she had pulled from her people. It was more concentrated; pulling it would require more strength but less precision. But this time she had no reason to worry about killing the host.

Without stopping to wonder if she should, Reina did as he instructed. She reached for the nearest daemon and pulled at the coil of red energy—pulled until it snapped and broke, then watched the daemon dissolve into miasma. Just like before, it was cold in her chest when she took it inside, but this time she was ready. She drew it in, twisted it up, twined it together with the strands that already ran through her. It reacted to her will. The cold couldn't overtake her; not when she held it so tight.

"And there you have it. Limitless power." Ardyn turned on his heel, walking backward in front of her and flung his arms wide to indicate the city full of daemons. "Take them. Consume them. Control them.  _Use_ them."

"For what?" They had already killed the last Astral, save Ifrit.

"For whatever you like, little Dreamer." He smiled. "It works in reverse, you know. Just as easy to plant a vine as to strip it for yourself…"

"Why would I want to?"

"How ever do you think I convinced the late and mindless Ifrit to join my cause? Though he still looks a God, do not be fooled; there is little left inside but a daemon." He stopped walking abruptly, and pulled Reina against him. "There are others who would be better suited to our service, as well…"

She flattened her hands against his chest and looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Just think how upset dear Noctis would be if he returned to find his faithful retainers… turned to daemons."

"I told you: I won't let you harm Ignis."

"Tsk. One might think you only chose me so that  _darling Ignis_  would be spared." He caught her chin in his hand and tilted it farther up.

"Of course I didn't."

"I know." Ardyn smirked. "You can lie to your friends and your subjects; you can even lie to yourself… but you can't lie to me, little Dreamer."

He traced the line of her lips with his thumb, then stooped to take her mouth with his, instead.

"I know you too well," he murmured in a pause between kisses, lips brushing against hers.

"The ones you don't care about, then," he said. "Surely you wouldn't deny me those two pawns."

Gladio and Prompto? Reina had hardly spoken to them in years. First she had pushed them away. Now they looked for excuses not to be around her. Then again, who didn't, besides Ardyn? They hated her, like everyone else… she could see it whenever they  _did_ cross paths—fear from Prompto… disappointment and disgust from Gladio.

Oh how the mighty had fallen.

"Or that old stick in the mud living under the city. We could go right now. We could plant the seeds and have him ready in time to greet Noctis." He punctuated each sentence with a slow kiss. "You cannot suffer him to live, after all. Not now that he has openly defied you."

Cor. The Immortal. The man who now believed that he had failed her family for three generations in a row.

"He'll betray you, if you let him." Ardyn dragged his mouth over her cheek, the scant growth of stubble scratching against her skin. "Hmm… Who was it that betrayed your father? Ah, yes. The captain of his Kingsglaive."

If he did, it would only be because he didn't believe she was her, anymore. That was the only way he could cope with what she had become.

"All you have to do is say the word, little Dreamer."

She shook her head and buried her face against his chest. "Let's just go back to the Citadel."

He sighed, disappointed, but complied. "If you insist."

He wrapped his arms around her and miasma swirled around them; this time Reina could feel the pull of his magic.

Then they were nothing but mist.

A routine formed, after a fashion. Reina kept to the shadows, coming to Lestallum only as often as her responsibilities dictated. Her place in the new ruling council of Lucis faded; when everyone regarded her as a daemon, it was simpler to leave written instructions or let Ignis pass on her orders. So he took her place—as she had once taken her father's place—and became, more or less, the only person who ever saw her. Certainly the only person who ever spoke to her.

The rest of Reina's time, she split across Lucis and Insomnia. Even with her increased range, she couldn't keep all of Lucis' daemons in check at once. So she slipped through the darkness, no longer constrained by physical means of transportation, moving from one corner of her kingdom to the other in just a few moments. From outside the outposts, she could hold the daemons back—lighten the load on their walls so that repairs could be made or keep their convoys safe as the cars moved between settlements. No one noticed; she was just one more shadow in the night.

Though she was always tired, she still rarely slept. It wouldn't have made a difference, anyway; this weariness was soul-deep. She couldn't wash it away with a full night's rest. But when, invariably, everything grew too much for even Father to soothe, Reina returned to Insomnia. To  _him_.

Because, if nothing else, at least he knew who she was. And he understood.

Everything she did, he had done before her.

If she survived two thousand years, would the desire to protect her people devolve into bitterness and disconnect? Thirty years was long enough—she was tired enough, already—how had Ardyn survived so long without going mad?

Ah. But he hadn't, had he?

That was what the future held for her; the line where exhaustion crossed over into insanity. The line where everything became a joke and reality blurred into nonsense. He had crossed it so long ago, he hardly remembered what it felt like just to sleep.

At least when she reached that point she would stop feeling so tired all the time. And who knew? Maybe insanity would be better than the real world.

The day she was waiting for—the day they had all been waiting ten years for—approached. She made the arrangements. Ignis would ensure that Gladio and Prompto were in Hammerhead at the appropriate time. The Glaives who held Angelgard—though they recoiled and drew steel after watching her materialize from the miasma—would have Father's boat ready. Written instructions left for Galdin's leaders meant they would be expecting him. And Talcott—after spilling his cup of coffee down the front of his shirt—swore he would have a car waiting for the king's arrival.

"And so he awakens." She knew as soon as he did, though she stood in Insomnia, watching the dead city from above.

"At last." There was an impatience in Ardyn that she had never seen, before—a sort of hungry excitement for what was to come. All those years of leisurely, patient waiting. Soon it would all pay off.

"He'll meet with the others in Hammerhead," Reina said. "Then they will come here."

"A shame that you wouldn't let me turn a single one of them. Think how much more  _dramatic_ his homecoming would be, if little Prompto had fulfilled his destiny and awaited Noct as a daemon."

She said nothing. None of that mattered, now.

They stood in silence some time longer, watching as the pale green spot in the sky—the sun, struggling to break through the miasma—crept toward the horizon. Then he spoke.

"Go, little Dreamer. Go, and be on hand when dear Noct arrives… and bring him to me."

Though she was desperate to be with Noctis once more, she wasn't eager to start their last day together. But it had to be done.

"Very well. I'll see you soon." She turned to go, but he caught her arm and pulled her round.

He kissed her roughly, fingers buried in her hair, and looked at her with that same impatient look from before.

"The long wait is nearly over, little Dreamer. Can't you taste the end?"

"I can." She sublimated in his arms, becoming nothing more than the black mist that covered all of Eos. The dark roll of his laughter followed her. And she went to Hammerhead.

To the beginning of the end.

 


	69. The King Returns

__

###### _17 August, 766:_

In the disorienting glow of the crystal's light, time passed.

Like the time between sleeping and waking, time passed.

Unbeknownst to Noctis, time passed.

It was night and that was all he knew. But they were waiting for him. Outside the cave where he woke, he found several things:

First, it wasn't night at all. In the black sky, a light hung, struggling to break through the darkness and illuminating the world in an eerie green glow.  _That_. That was the sun.

Second, he was on Angelgard. The island itself was quiet, but not altogether empty. On the shore outside the cave a dozen men and women waited. They were ragged and worn down, but somehow he knew them for what they were at a glance: the Kingsglaive. He could feel his father's magic in them. It shouldn't have been possible, but it was true all the same. They told him his friends were waiting in Hammerhead.

Third was his way out; Dad's boat moored just off shore.

Across the water, the lights of Galdin Quay beckoned him. So he went.

The closer his boat drew, the more he doubted his eyes. Galdin Quay? It was Galdin, right? It was in the right spot. But where were the lights sparkling on the water? Where was the Mother of Pearl? Where were the little boats, the causeway that he had fished off of so many times before?

Then again. Where was the sun?

It was a settlement—it may even have been called Galdin Quay, still—but it wasn't the Galdin he remembered. The dock was just that: a dock made for function and nothing else, lit by heavy flood lights, which buzzed as they cut through the thick and unnatural night. The actual outpost began at the shore—a heavy wall of stone and concrete, a foot thick and ten feet tall. Lights pointed out from the walls, creating a well-lit ring around the perimeter, and people patrolled the top. It wouldn't have been possible to slip by unnoticed even if he had wanted to. By the time his boat was close enough to dock, half a dozen people were waiting, tying off lines and securing Dad's boat before Noctis had even lifted a finger.

"Your Majesty! Welcome back."

He didn't recognize any of those who greeted him, but apparently they recognized him.

"Yeah. Thanks. Uh… any chance of catching a ride to Hammerhead?" It was a long walk.

"Of course, Your Majesty; Talcott is waiting out front to take you there."

Talcott. Talcott? Ten years old, collects cactuars Talcott? They were going to let him drive a car?

Noct might have objected, but he didn't get the opportunity. He was swept along, through the gates—where bunker-like buildings were surrounded by hundreds of people crowding the walkways to get a look at him—and out the front.

Someone  _was_ waiting for him at the street. But it definitely wasn't the same Talcott he was thinking.

Right?

"Welcome back, Your Majesty! Man, it's great to see you again!"

"Talcott?" He tried.

"Yup, that's me."

"No way." Absolutely not. He hadn't been older than ten when they left for Altissia, and  _that_ hadn't been… how long  _had_ it been? Reina said time would pass differently for him, but this…

"Yes way. I'm supposed to take you up to Hammerhead, so hop in, Your Majesty."

It still sounded weird to be called 'Your Majesty.' Whatever happened, that was still his father's title. Maybe if he spent years here, doing whatever it was a king was meant to do… but that wasn't what he was back for. He wouldn't have the chance to get used to it.

For the moment, he didn't have to be; he climbed into the truck beside Talcott and they were on their way through the night, which crawled with daemons. Noctis still couldn't wrap his head around it. Ten years, Talcott told him,  _ten years_  he had been gone. And his sister alone all that time. The last time he had seen her she had been more calm about facing that path ahead than he had… but she'd had ten years alone, while the time had slipped by like a waking dream, to him.

"The guys must be pinching themselves, right now," Talcott said.

Gladio, Ignis, Prompto—he had left them behind to buy time for himself and never come back for them. Not for ten years. The last time he'd seen them, he hadn't known if he ever would again. But he hadn't looked back. Now, hearing they were all alive… it was a weight off his shoulders. But Talcott hadn't mentioned Reina.

"And my sister?"

Whatever response Noctis had expected it wasn't this—hesitation. Talcott's eyes flicked sideways toward Noct, he opened his mouth and shut it, no words coming out for a moment.

"Uh… Her Highness is... ah…"

Ten years and the world was all in darkness, but she had  _promised_. She had sworn she would be waiting for him when he returned.

Noct sat forward in his seat. "She's not dead."

Even as he said the words, he was certain; it wasn't just childish denial. He would  _know_ if Reina was gone. Somehow he just would.

"No," Talcott said, but he said it carefully, "She's… uh… alive. She's… uh... in charge. Sort of. Never did let anyone call her 'Majesty,' though: 'My brother is the King of Lucis, and while he lives there is no queen'."

That did sound like Reina.

"She hasn't changed much, then." Noctis sat back in his seat, but he continued to watch Talcott's expression. What did he mean she was 'sort of' in charge?

"Uh… well. I guess don't remember all that well what she was like before."

It was an excuse—a concession, like he didn't want to argue with Noct but didn't believe for a minute that she hadn't changed.

"I guess I'll see for myself."

"Yeah," said Talcott.

"Do the guys still stick with her?" Noct asked, shifting subjects.

"Sometimes," Talcott said—again, that careful avoidance in his tone, "But mostly they have their own responsibilities and hunt on their own. Of everyone, Ignis sees her the most..."

"How is Ignis?"

"He's doing as well as anyone, I guess. At first we tried to get him to stop hunting, but Her Highness opposed it just as vehemently as he did. Now there's no reason, really. It was really something to watch them fight together. To see it you'd never have thought he was blind—but they don't really do it anymore."

It was quite a lot to process in a few sentences. Apparently Ignis had never recovered his vision, but Noct still remembered the way Reina and Ignis had been working together around his blindness. Ten years ago it had been a work in progress; it seemed they had perfected it.

"And Gladio and Prompto?"

"Well… Her Highness and Gladio had a tiff, but that was a long time ago. He swore his shield to her in your absence and she turned him down; she took Iris' oath instead."

" _Iris_?" He was interested to hear that Reina had turned down Gladio, but more struck by who she had chosen instead.

"Oh, yeah. Iris the Daemonslayer, they call her, now."

"Wow." What else could he say? As interested as he was to hear everything that had passed, a part of him knew it didn't matter. He didn't get to stay.

When the car pulled into Hammerhead, Noctis hardly registered that they had arrived. It almost looked a little bit like it had, ten years ago. If he squinted and turned his head sideways and only looked in one direction. Like Galdin, Hammerhead was enclosed inside a proper wall, complete with a gate, which slid open for them. Inside was more familiar—the garage, the gas station, Takka's Pit Stop were all still around, just a little darker. A little more derelict. It didn't look like Takka's was serving up Catoblepas steak, anymore. But the door was still open, the lights were on inside, and people were walking in and out: grim-faced hunters and—

And Gladio. And Prompto. And Ignis.

They looked like they had been through the wringer—and he had never seen anything better.

Gladio was still a small mountain of a man. He still couldn't keep his shirt on. Ten years in the dark hadn't killed Prompto's bright smile, or that way he practically jumped up and down in excitement, tugging at Ignis' arm. And Ignis, now without glasses, still walked with that air of grace and purpose.

"Hey," said Noct, fighting a smile.

"'Hey'? That's all you have to say for yourself after all this time?" Gladio shoved him. No; nothing much had changed, had it?

"Noct! It's you! It's really you!"

"Is it? I hadn't realized."

"Well, well. You kept us waiting."

Noct's eyes fell on Ignis; he stepped forward, grasping his oldest friend's shoulder. If Ignis couldn't see him anymore, at least he could have that much.

"Not like I wanted to," Noct said. A pause, then, "Where's Reina?"

That damn hesitation again! And from all of them, this time. Prompto and Gladio exchanged a look, Ignis dropped his sightless gaze.

"She… went on ahead. I expect she will be back, soon," Ignis said at last.

"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on with Rei?"

Gladio gave a noncommittal grunt. "You'll see for your damn self. C'mon. Let's go inside."

Takka's Pit Stop had turned into daemon slayer headquarters, it seemed: now piled high with supplies and occupied by hunters. But they managed to find a seat and a place to talk, for a time, while they waited for the last member of their group. It wasn't as long of a wait as it felt like. But, when it was over, he hardly registered it.

For all that his friends had changed, it was his own sister Noct barely recognized. The only reason he knew it was her was because as soon as she walked in, everyone was paying attention. She was in charge without trying to be.

Just like Dad.

But her face… lines ran across her skin, forming tiny, twisting scars like cracks that had healed over, just like the scar Dad had on his face.

And her  _eyes_.

She turned to look at him; she didn't search for him, her gaze just immediately settled on him. And he suddenly understood why no one would talk about her.

They were ice white. Almost as white as Ignis', almost as white as the whites of her eyes, so that it looked like she had no irises at all. Her gaze was steady, unblinking. The stuff of nightmares.

"Rei?" He made himself stand and take a step toward her, anyway.

"Hello, Noct." It sounded, more or less, like her voice… if someone had taken her voice and recorded it for a computer.

He put one foot in front of the other. She didn't move, but to look up at him as he approached. What the hell had happened to her in those ten years? Ignis was meant to look out for her, damn it!

"Reina…?" He grasped her shoulders. She didn't resist when he pulled her into a hug—or she did, just for an instant, like reflex, and then she relaxed, letting out a breath and pressing her hands to his chest. "What happened?"

A stupid, insufficient question.

"I kept everyone safe, just like you asked." Her voice, muffled against his chest, quivered. He doubted that anyone else could hear her words.

For a moment he didn't know what she meant. But—

" _Keep them safe,"_ He had said, just before falling into the crystal, " _Until I get back."_

On the hand that pressed against his chest, he saw the Ring of the Lucii. That magic never came free, did it? Dad had given his whole life to uphold the Wall. What had Reina given to hold back the dark while Noctis was gone? It had cut her apart and glued her back together until she was fragmented and broken, eyes bleached with magic. All of that because he asked her to keep them safe.

She had been through hell while he slept.

"I'll make this right," he said.

Reina said nothing. She remained pressed against his chest for a moment longer before she pulled away, swiping at her eyes.

"He's waiting for you," she said, at length.

"Who?"

"Ardyn."

"Then let's not keep him. He has a hell of a lot to answer for." Noct took a step toward the door.

Reina caught his arm. The look she gave him—quiet, mournful, resigned—made him stop in his tracks.

"This isn't his fault, Noctis. Just… whatever happens, just know that."

Why… what?

Reina squeezed his elbow and turned, leaving the building while he was still staring at her. Behind him, the others were sitting more or less where he had left them, trying to look like they weren't paying attention.

"Right." Noctis followed her and they came after.

Outside, a second car was parked next to Talcott's truck. Amidst everything else—the dark, the dead, and the practical—it looked unreal. Noctis had to shake his head and rub his eyes before he was convinced. It really was there. Reina's car—the car Dad had given her on their twentieth birthday.

"How did you…?"

"It was in the garage under the Citadel when Insomnia fell. Surprisingly intact," she said.

"If I might suggest." Ignis caught up with them when they lingered outside. "The waking day is drawing on—for us, at least. We should take what rest we can and head into Insomnia with clear minds."

Noctis glanced at the sky. Admittedly, he had no idea what time it was; apparently they had some notion, because Gladio and Prompto mumbled their agreement. Reina shrugged; now that the others were back in earshot she looked blank again.

"Yeah, sure. Let's do that. Gonna cook for us, Specs?" The question came out before he thought about it. Last time they had all camped together, Ignis hadn't been cooking. Had he ever picked up that habit again, or was it gone forever like so much else?

But Ignis smiled. "Of course. For old time's sake."

They took to the haven behind Hammerhead. Miraculously, no daemons bothered them—whether because the Oracle's wards were still functioning or some other reason, Noctis was thankful. They would see enough daemons tomorrow.

Dinner was delicious. Conversation was… tense. Scattered and awkward, right up until Reina gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and walked out into the night. Without a light. All by herself.

"Rei—!"

She only waved. "I'll be back, Noctis."

No one else seemed to think it was strange. But the tension drained from the night in her absence. Like everyone was afraid of her.

She didn't come back until they had all settled down for the night. Noct sat up waiting for her and eventually it paid off—though for a moment, walking up to the camp shrouded in darkness, he thought she was a daemon. But his brain caught up with his eyes and he only saw her, once she drew close enough.

She could have taken any of the empty chairs. She sat on him, instead.

"Why are they all afraid of you?" He broke the silence, watching the fading fire instead of her.

"Because I bared my teeth and chased them all away."

It wasn't really an answer. Probably she knew that, because she added:

"You'll understand, later."

"I don't have a lot of 'later' left, Rei."

She smiled bitterly. "You'll understand before the end."

And that was all she would say. He dozed, eventually. Reina didn't so far as he could tell. Every time he woke during the night she was awake, sitting in a chair opposite to him or standing at the edge of the light looking east toward Insomnia.

It was impossible to tell when dawn was, but at some point the others woke, as well. Breakfast and a brief walk back to Hammerhead followed before they packed up and set out toward Insomnia.

Reina pulled open the door of her car and turned to look at Noctis. It was still unnerving to be under that colorless gaze, but… "Ride with me or in the truck? I can't fit everyone."

"Well, we're driving in to meet the devil. Might as well do it in style, I guess," Noct said.

In the end, Ignis and Noct both sat in Reina's car while Prompto and Gladio followed behind in a beat-up old pickup. The road was surprisingly quiet. Even driving in the dark as they were, Noct saw fewer daemons than he would have expected ten years ago at night. Weren't there supposed to be more, now?

"So… you've been to Insomnia, then?" Noctis broke the silence.

"Yes." Reina didn't elaborate.

"I believe the Marshal and some of the Glaives are there, now." So Ignis did.

Reina's hold on the steering wheel tightened. "Indeed."

Something about Cor? They never had gotten along well.

He didn't ask.

The drive was uneventful. Though they passed no other people on the roads, Noctis could have almost believed this  _was_ ten years ago. Right up until they reached Insomnia.

Thankfully, the bridge held up well enough under the cars and in a few minutes they passed through the wide-open gates into the ruined city. The last time Noctis had been inside, the Wall had been intact, the sun had been in the sky, and Dad had been alive. He had thought he was just leaving to get married to Luna.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

The cars wouldn't make it much past the gates; the roads were all strewn with debris and half-collapsed buildings. So they parked on the edge of the city and began to work their way through. The buildings were crumbling; some had toppled entirely. Large portions of the streets were impassable, forcing them to find new routes but, despite all that, Reina led the way as if she had walked the route hundreds of times. Maybe she had.

And it was silent. Deserted. Noctis hadn't expected to see  _people_ here, but wasn't it supposed to be crawling with daemons?

"Where are all the daemons?"

Gladio and Prompto exchanged a look.

"Not far away," Reina said. "I thought you would prefer to have them out of the way, but if you'd rather kill them…"

What?

Just on the edge of his vision—around corners and between building, from windows and doorways—the daemons swarmed. His blade leapt to his hand, more reflex than calculated response. Behind him, Prompto and Gladio also drew their weapons. But Ignis, walking beside Reina, remained unmoving.

"They were humans once, too, though…" Reina said.

The daemons should have approached. They should have leapt and attacked, overwhelming them—or trying. But they didn't. They just sat where they were, screeching and chattering.

Reina lifted a hand and they fled again, back the way they had come. And again, the city was silent.

What.

The.

Hell.

"Reina…" Noctis let go of his sword, but the note in his voice was warning.

_Tell me what the hell is going on_.

She looked up at him and again he caught a glimpse of that expression—quiet, mournful resignation—before she said, "I have kept them safe. Whatever the cost."

What did that even mean? Noct didn't want to know.

Silence fell among them once more. They continued through the deserted, crumbling Crown City until the Citadel was just visible ahead. The lights were lit, all up and down the towers. So Ardyn  _was_  waiting for them.

Atop a lightpost.

"Fashionably late, I see."

Still cocky. Still oily. Still as creepy as ever. And there he was, standing in the middle of Insomnia with that fucking smirk like he owned it.

"Ardyn," Noctis growled.

"Insomnia, the Crown City of  _my_ kingdom," Ardyn announced with a flourish and a bow. Then he paused, his eyes flicking toward Reina, and his crooked smile stretched. "Apologies, little Dreamer.  _Our_ kingdom."

_Their_  kingdom? Little Dreamer? What the hell?

Noct turned to look at Reina, but she was only looking at Ardyn.

"Hello, Ardyn," she said. No venom. No hatred.

Ardyn stepped forward and plummeted off the post. Before he hit the ground he flashed, leaving behind a red shadow and reappearing just in front of Reina.

"Come now, little Dreamer, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Why not tell brother-dear all that we've been through together in his absence? Are you ashamed?" Ardyn lifted a hand and dragged his fingers over Reina's cheek. She didn't pull away; she didn't even look repulsed.

But that was nothing to what followed: Ardyn, taking Reina's chin in his hand; Ardyn, lowering his face—no. Absolutely not. Impossible—to kiss her; Reina, not pulling back.

Reina. Kissing him back. Her hands on his chest, his shoulders.

Noctis took a step back.

" _I have kept them safe. Whatever the cost."_

" _Whatever the cost."_

The daemons hadn't attacked their camp or cars because of her. The daemons hadn't followed them through Insomnia because of her. Because of  _this_. Because she didn't think this was Ardyn's fault. Because—he didn't even know what else—

This was why no one spoke of her.

This was why they exchanged that look whenever Noct asked about her.

This was why everyone was afraid.

This was why she looked so mournful.

" _Whatever the cost."_

He hadn't meant like this.

When they broke apart, Ardyn was looking at him. Reina wasn't.

"Oh yes, Noct. And it isn't even a trick." Ardyn laughed—that sinister, slimey laugh that made Noct's stomach roll. "You see, Reina has seen the truth. The whole world laid out before her eyes, plain and clear. And she isn't content to be a pawn any longer."

While he spoke, his fingers traced the scars on Reina's face as if he had forgotten he was doing it. Too familiar. Too disgusting. He lowered to speak in her ear, but he whispered loudly enough that Noctis could hear:

"You don't have to play by their rules anymore. Today, we make our own game. My. Dreamer."

That look on her face—eyes shut, lips parted—looked like he had just offered her everything she had ever wanted, like he had offered to bring Dad back to life and make the sun rise again.

"Reina…" Noctis took that step forward, though he didn't want to.

She looked at him and the emotion he had seen only hints of was stark on her face, now. It was guilt and it was despair. It was begging him just to understand; it was screaming, without words:

See me.

Just me.

No one else.

And he saw his sister. His twin. His other half. He saw her broken and scarred. He saw her left to hold together the world while it fell apart around her. He saw her without friends because everyone else just saw that—the white eyes, the marked face, the empty gaze—and never saw  _her_. He saw the little girl who had always been desperate for Dad's attention and never gotten it. He saw the young woman who had found someone, somehow, who made her feel seen. Made her feel known.

"Reina," he said again, holding out his hand toward her, "Remember what else I said? I love you. Unconditionally. It hasn't changed."

"Come with me, little Dreamer." Ardyn took a step back, holding  _his_ hand out. "Come with me and put an end to their lies and manipulation. Come with me and we will make this world whatever you want."

Noctis didn't lower his hand. He didn't shift his gaze, though Reina looked between him and Ardyn. He meant what he said. He had to mean it. He loved her because she was his twin. He loved her because she was the other half of his heart and soul. Nothing could change that.

Not even this choice.


	70. Last Chance

__

######  _17 August, 766:_

No turning back. After she made this step, everything else would be lost to her.

And so she stood, torn between the two halves of herself: her twin and her daemon, the blue and the red, the light and the dark. They were all mixed up inside her, no longer distinguishable, and for the first time she truly understood. This was who she was—perhaps it had always been—she wasn't a monster among men; she wasn't a survivor in the dark. No one was really one or the other—sinner or saint. It was their choices that made them so.

"Reina. Remember what else I said? I love you. Unconditionally. It hasn't changed."

"Come with me, little Dreamer. Come with me and put an end to their lies and manipulation. Come with me and we will make this world whatever you want."

If she went with Ardyn they could bring to life the world she had been dreaming of for ten long years. They could put everything right.

Ardyn held his hand out to her—unmoving and quietly confident. Even now he had no doubt what choice she would make. He always had been able to read her like a book.

But sometimes he forgot that went both ways. This thing they had together… it wasn't love. A part of her did love him—just like a part of her feared him—but two thousand years of spite had burned out his capacity to love anyone or anything. No matter how often she told herself she could fix him… they both knew it was too late.

"Ardyn…"

"Little Dreamer." He smiled, gaze unwavering.

She shut her eyes. That whole life was waiting for her, but…

"We both know that a world built on spite and revenge would never bring happiness. Not to you. Not to me. Not to anyone we saved," Reina said. She opened her eyes to look up at him, and for the first time saw a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "I wish I could go back and undo what they did to you. I wish I could take away the pain and fix this. But no matter how hard I try—even if I do love you—there is only one way out of this with a happy ending for us. There is only one way to achieve the peace you crave… please don't make me fight you."

It was on his face only a moment—surprise, understanding, temptation—before everything shifted into a snarl.

And she knew she had already failed.

His hand dropped back to his side.

"And here I thought we were getting along  _so well_  together." Years of dark, twisted smiles she had witnessed. This one held all of his malice. All of his hatred. "But after all this time, after all you've seen, you choose to side with  _the crystal_. Do you really think they'll take you back, little Dreamer…? You are a monster, after all…"

The strand that bound them together snapped and lashed back at her. Reina recoiled. His magic was gone from her—it should have meant the end to her control over the Starscourge, it should have meant that neat coil of corrupt power inside her unwound and took over once more… but it didn't. Judging by the look on Ardyn's face, he had expected her to lose control, as well. He wasn't out of tricks, though.

He reached into her, tugging and cutting and pulling and tearing her apart until the Starscourge unraveled and surged like ice in her veins once more. She fought him for control, but he had already succeeded—she could taste it in her mouth, feel it dripping down her face like black tears.

"Look upon your sister, O Chosen King!" Ardyn laughed.

She turned because she had to know. Did he really mean what he said? Could he love a monster?

And she watched Noctis' eyes widen as he beheld her. Behind him, Gladio and Prompto took a step back.

But.

But Noct didn't drop his hand. And as the surprised faded, his resolution only strengthened. "I love you," he repeated. "Unconditionally."

Reina spat black ichor on the pavement.

"This is what we are," she said to Ardyn. "But it doesn't have to be who we are."

"How  _sweet_. Oh, but here I've let your confession of  _love_ fall by the wayside. How remiss of me!" He took a step forward; she didn't step back. He stooped and caught her chin in his hand, like he had so many times before—this time his grip was so tight that it hurt.

"Ardyn—" She grasped his forearm with both hands.

"Let me respond properly, then…"

He leaned forward so they were nose to nose. For an instant, she let herself believe this wasn't the end, with the look he gave her.

And then.

"I  _hate_ you with all of my being." He squeezed her chin hard enough to leave a mark, then he released her backward so she was forced to take a step or fall.

It hurt more than it should have to hear him say that.

"Now, then. Where were we? Oh yes—" He took a step back, holding his arms wide. Behind him, a crimson shield crept up from the earth to enclose the Citadel. "My gift to you, Noctis—the same Wall your father gave his life to sustain." His eyes flicked toward Reina, then back to Noct. "You know, I would have left you with my little pet and called it a day—your  _dear_ sister doesn't like it when I poke fun at your father—but I've had a change of heart. So I give you this parting reminder of Daddy Dearest."

He laughed.

"Do hurry home, children." Ardyn's eyes fixed on Reina and his unpleasant grin grew.

And he dissolved into a cloud of miasma, leaving her behind with the light.

Of course he wouldn't listen to her. She was a fool if she had ever believed she could change him; what had taken two thousand years of suffering to solidify couldn't be undone in less than ten more. But it was so easy to accidentally fall into hoping. It was built into people, hope. That drive to keep on living was the only reason their species was still around at all. More fool she, then, for thinking she was above it. He was always going to turn on her the moment her heart was revealed; his obsession with her was just that—a passion that could so easily have been applied to hatred, instead.

And so it was.

And so she lost the last person who understood her.

"Reina?" Noctis touched her shoulder.

She ducked her head and wiped her face on her sleeve to hide the tears that mingled with the black ichor. It was harder to coil up the scourge inside her and push it back down, now, without Ardyn's help, but she managed on her own. Then she turned and looked up into her brother's face. Propriety dictated that she apologize. She didn't. She just set her jaw and looked up at him. And if he hated her because of this… well. So did everyone else. But that was just who she was, now.

Noctis met her gaze levelly. His eyes searched her face and his hold on her shoulder tightened.

And then he pulled her into a hug.

For a stunned moment, she remained frozen against him. Eventually she gathered enough of her wits to hug him back.

"I love who you are, Rei. Now and forever." He held her so tight she thought she might break. She returned it just as fiercely.

He had looked her in the face, seen corruption dripping from her eyes and stepped forward when everyone else stepped back. Because he was her brother. Her twin. Her other half.

He always had been the better half.

"I love you, Noct." Her words were muffled against his chest, but he heard.

They might have stood, indefinitely, in the middle of the broken boulevard rediscovering what had been missing for ten years. But the city was waking up around them.

Reina pulled back. "We need to move. He won't let me control the daemons, anymore—they'll be on us, soon."

Noctis let her break away, but he kept his hands on her shoulders a moment. Finally he gave her a nod and turned his gaze ahead.

"Let's go. It's time to bring the peace that Lucis craves."

Peace. A more elusive ideal than he understood.

But she nodded all the same; it was time for peace.

As predicted, the daemons followed them through the streets of Insomnia from there on out. They were more of a hassle than they had been, before—how many years since the last time they had pestered her?—because she couldn't walk through, ignoring them, when she had other people along. So she stood at Noct's side and felt the power pulse between them. The bonds that had been cut when he was taken into the crystal sprang up once more—almost of their own accord, without truly being forged by either of them. It was… different than before.

So much different.

The power of the Lucii, of Eos and the Astrals, surged through them and between them. He didn't need to be wearing the ring to draw on it—he had  _her_. And he had a new strength inside him. Something bestowed by ten years in the crystal, the little remnants that hadn't already soaked into the ring. But it didn't matter if that was his and this was hers. The barrier between 'Noctis' and 'Reina' blurred and broke.

This.

This was what it felt like to be a person instead of a half.

She was still broken. She was still full of holes. But when she reached out to Noctis and he reached back, she had something she had hardly even known she had been missing for ten years.

So they danced.

It was almost a game. Shifting reality around her and watching him do the same in another spot, in another direction. She cut down a daemon who leapt at Ignis before he could even respond to the sound. Noctis ducked under Gladio's blade and stole the life from his foe before Gladio's strike could land. She sliced the one that Prompto was aiming at neatly in two. And then the next.

And the next.

When the first wave of daemons was on the pavement, evaporating, less than a minute later Prompto hadn't used a single bullet. Gladio's blade was dry. Ignis was still holding the flask he had drawn at the first hint of trouble.

And Noct stood across from her, with that look on his face. The one only he could do. It was love and it was understanding in its purest form. It was conspiracy. It was mirth.

He grinned, gave a short laugh.

Against all, she found a smile of her own.

"Uh… what… what just happened?" Prompto asked.

Noctis glanced at him, then shrugged. "Guess you got slow, too, when you got old and fat."

"I am not fat!" Prompto swiped at him, but Noctis was precisely out of reach without seeming to try. "Am I…?"

Noct smiled, patting his shoulder. "Only in the best way."

Prompto glanced over his shoulder at Gladio, as if to ask what that meant. Gladio only shrugged.

"Time for you old farts to get a move on. Come on, Rei." Noctis held out his hand to her. "Let's show them how the young folk do it."

She took his hand. It wasn't so bad, for their last adventure together.


	71. Opposite Sides

 

######  _17 August, 766:_

Behind them, a thousand daemons advanced.

In front of them, the familiar gates of the Citadel lay blocked off by a crimson Wall.

"Looks like there's no way past the Wall." Prompto hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

"Of course there is." Reina didn't bother looking at the approaching daemons. Chances were that she and Noctis could have killed them all, if it came to that, but they had more important things to spend their energy on. And she couldn't guarantee that they would succeed before any of the others were hurt. Or worse.

Noct glanced sideways at her. "You know how to get through this?"

"The Wall was never infallible. Like any other shield, it will break under enough strain." Reina stepped forward.

"How do we put it under that much strain?" Noct mirrored her.

"You've got all those Gods on your side, right?" Gladio was pointedly looking at Noctis only. He didn't ask whether or not those covenants were still valid if all the Gods were dead; even if he didn't understand why, he knew they were still bound to Noct for as long as he lived.

"Yeah—"

"No." Reina interrupted before he could even consider summoning them. She took a step toward  _him_ , this time, then another, until she could take his hands in hers. "We don't need them, Noct. We don't need any of them. Together we are stronger."

Noct met her gaze levelly. She saw the questions in his eyes, the doubt on his face, but overcoming all of that was trust. "Show me what to do."

"Whatever you're gonna do, you better do it fast!" Gladio and the others had formed a line between them and the daemons.

Reina only spared them a glance. They couldn't afford to be distracted, now. She knit her fingers with Noct's and turned toward Ardyn's Wall; she lifted their tangled hands and she showed him.

Between the two of them, they now held the cumulative power of Eos and one hundred and thirteen generations of Caelum monarchs. Already their magics were intertwined—Noct's pure blue to Reina's violet. She reached for the strands of their forefathers and wove them into the tapestry. One by one they joined: Somnus, Tonitrus, Crepera.

Father.

One hundred and fifteen minds in one place at one time should have been chaos. But it wasn't. It was unified. This was what they had been waiting millennia for; two thousand years of their bloodline, now bound together for their final purpose. Their ultimate purpose. Not because the Gods willed it, not because they were required to, but because this was their responsibility to their people: it was a monarch's place to protect his kingdom.

They could feel Somnus' resignation, Tonitrus' determination, Crepera's rage.

They could feel Father's love, wrapping them both up like he used to do when they were eight and afraid of the dark.

And they could feel—instinctively, now—where the power needed to go.

On Reina's hand, the Ring of the Lucii flared to life. The pair of them stood, outlined in blue-white light as the air tensed—uncomfortably heavy for a moment, like the building pressure before a thunderstorm.

And then it snapped.

The light poured out from their outstretched hands—still tangled together—and arced like fire, ice, and lightning molded together. It was a hundred glaives. It was a thousand arrows. It was the earth splitting open and the lifeblood pouring out in one single concentrated stream.

The sound traveled out—a shock wave—like the crack of thunder up too close, pounding in their ears and throbbing in their chests. Though the twins held strong at the eye of the storm, the others fought against it. The daemons—farther from the center—fared worse. They were swept up and forced back: tumbled, flattened, and crushed.

The shield cracked.

Then shattered.

It crumbled like glass, but the shards never hit the ground.

And when the light faded and they were left standing outside the gates in the sudden calm, the world felt too quiet. But not too empty. Because they were two and one hundred.

No one said a word as they passed through the gates. Inside, Ardyn awaited. He stood at the top of the Citadel steps, as he had time and time again when Reina came to him. But today they were on opposite sides.

"I must thank you for helping me mop up Bahamut,  _little Dreamer_." For so many years that had sounded like an affectionate moniker. He made sure it wasn't, now. "Do be a good girl and kill the last Astral for me, will you? I shall await you… above."

Noctis glanced sideways at her, but no distrust showed on his face. Whatever he thought about Ardyn's declaration, it seemed he wasn't going to let himself doubt her. All the better. He just stepped forward, still holding her hand, to face the tainted Infernian. The last Astral on Eos.

Reina would have wanted him dead, even if he hadn't been corrupted. Just as well, then.

Ifrit's fire leapt up from the earth, scorching the Citadel plaza. Reina threw up a shield between them and the flames; Noctis, still holding her hand, pulled ice from the air outside and let it drench the pavement. The stone steamed. The fires fell back, bit by bit.

"Is Ifrit the last Astral?" Noctis didn't look at her; he kept his eyes outward, on Ifrit and beyond.

"Yes," said Reina.

"Why?"

He wasn't asking why Ifrit was the last one left. He was asking why she had killed Bahamut.

"Yeah, why is that, Reina?" Prompto called from behind—not a friendly inquiry, but a goading question.

"Because they are not Gods. Because they are not our allies; they are our jailers, our arrogant puppet-masters, our narcissistic commanders. And this  _whole thing_ is  _their fault_." Reina spat the words out, eight years of secrets that she had kept close to her chest, not wanting to damage the fragile hope of her people. Now it didn't matter. Now the dawn would rise on a world with no Astrals and humanity would be all the better for it.

She pushed her anger into the shield, forcing it outward in a burst of power. The flames around them died, deprived of air in the brief vacuum of force. Ifrit may have been tainted—poetic justice, as far as she was concerned—but he still needed to be eliminated. Perhaps the Starscourge did devour souls and leave nothing behind. But the Astrals weren't the same and their souls were strung up between realms—who was to say if it was permanent for them? Reina didn't dare risk even a single Astral making it through to dawn.

"Because  _they created the Starscourge_  and infected Solheim with it. Because they made Ardyn who he is, now. And because they, after  _fucking over all of Eos_ , had the audacity to drop the whole fucking mess on our family and curse two thousand years of our forefathers to deathless limbo, just to gather enough power for this moment." She turned and looked at Noctis, heedless of the dangers around them. Ifrit threw fire and a Reina raised a shield without sparing it so much as a glance. "And they could have spared us all of this. They could have helped Ardyn instead of casting him out. He could have destroyed the scourge instead of embracing it. But in their pride and their short-sighted, dogmatic view of good and evil, of light and dark, they multiplied their own mistake a hundred times over until the only way to eliminate it was  _this_."

Prompto and Gladio had taken a step back; both of them looking at her with some combination of shock, disbelief, and dawning comprehension. Ignis stood by in silence, but a look of pain flashed across his face. She wanted to tell him not to regret his choice to walk away from her. She wanted to tell him she didn't blame him. But they didn't have enough time.

"Stand with me, Noct." She looked to her brother, instead. "Help me kill the last of them before we fix their mistakes and put this world back together—not because they meant for us to do it, but for us. For our family. For our people. So that Father and everyone else can finally rest. So that Lucis can bask in the light once more."

Noctis met her gaze. Flames were flickering pointlessly outside her shield. He nodded and squeezed her hand.

"Let's do it. For Lucis. For Dad."

Reina thrust her shield outward once more. This time they took advantage of the fading flames and advanced.

"Gladio, with me. Prompto, hang back and wait for an opening. Specs—ice." Noctis held out his hands and summoned the Armiger. "Everyone… don't get cooked."

Reina stepped up on Noct's right, with Gladio taking his other side. Flames rolled off of Ifrit in waves, but she watched where they fell before he had even moved; she had a shield waiting. It didn't eliminate the scorching heat, but at least it kept them from being cooked—as Noct so eloquently put it. Once the fire had faded once more, Reina dropped the shield and called her own spectral weapons.

Noctis glanced at her, eyes flicking over the ring of violet glaives that circled around her. "Why are yours purple?"

"That's what happens when you mix Lucian magic with the corruption of the Starscourge. But they cut just as well." Better, even. Debatably.

She leapt, taking to the air and Noct followed suit. Ifrit was still sitting; lounging in a pseudo-throne of his own making as if bored by the prospect of fighting them. It was time to drag him to his feet.

They moved together, circling around Ifrit in opposite directions as two sets of glaives soared through the air. Each blade left a cut when it landed; whether Astrals bled or not was immaterial—his own reaction of building rage as he swatted at them was enough. One of his hands was large enough to crush them—if he could catch them. And he tried. But it was impossible to fight a foe who always knew where he would strike.

It took only a few moments to draw him to his feet, and a few more after that to bring him to his knees. Gladio worked from below, Ignis' flasks cracked and froze Ifrit's skin, and Prompto filled in whatever gaps the other two left while she and Noctis kept him otherwise occupied. The rage of the Starscourge drove Ifrit on; Reina could see it now, burning black in his eyes. She could feel it, too. An hour ago, she would have been able to pull on it and bend him to her will, but Ardyn held his reins, now. So she drove every blade against him in an unending barrage until that rage—impotent, in the end—brought him howling and crashing down.

She met Noct in the air and caught his hand once more.

"Let's finish this." She pulled at his magic and him at hers.

Ice crept up from the earth; dead or not, the power of the Astrals was woven into their blood and now they turned it on the last one.

Ifrit made a terrible ice sculpture.

Noct's feet hit the ground a moment before hers. And Ifrit shattered.

She stood, unmoving, watching that spot as the shards of ice sublimated. That was it. The last Astral. Now there were only two things left to put right in the world.

Noctis pulled her into a sideways hug. "C'mon. We'll make this right."

"Yes." Reina shut her eyes and let him pull her toward the Citadel steps. The end was so close, now.

"Hey—uh—Reina?" Prompto called after and they both stopped, turning to look at him. "Sorry about… y'know… not trusting you and… kinda thinking you were on Ardyn's side all along. I, uh, didn't know about the Gods… the Astrals."

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Gladio asked.

Reina smiled—not amused, but weary. "Because people needed to hope. They needed to believe someone—or something—was watching over the world."

"Right…" Gladio didn't believe her, but it didn't matter, much. "Well. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too."

"You don't need to apologize. None of you have done anything wrong." She turned around, facing the Citadel steps once more and reaching for Noct's hand. "Come. Let us linger no longer."

The path up the stairs and through the ruined Citadel was familiar to her, by now. It no longer felt like home. Indeed, it felt like something so far removed from the place that she had once called home that it no longer even hurt to walk through the empty corridors. It was like walking through a lucid dream.

Noctis paused before pushing open the throne room door.

"Prompto… can I see your photos?"

Once, it might have been Prompto's favorite question to answer. Today, eyes wide with disbelief and confusion, he supplied them almost reluctantly. Perhaps he knew what was coming.

"I just need one," Noct said. "To take with me."

Reina didn't stand at his shoulder with Gladio and Prompto as they flipped through the old pictures. She didn't want to see. If she thought about the past—of what had been and what might have been—it would only make everything so much worse. It was easier to believe that this was some distant nightmare that she now lived in; a world that had never held sunlight or joy. That was easier.

She moved toward Ignis, instead. If she didn't take this moment to tell him—

"Reina." He caught her hand when she moved to touch her face—his expression flashed regret and anguish as he squeezed her fingers. "What I have done is unforgivable… I should never have doubted you…"

"Don't be sorry. You have done nothing wrong."

"Nevertheless—"

"No, Ignis. Just know that you are already forgiven, no matter what you think of yourself. You have done everything you should."

Scant time they had spent together, these last few years; she had regretted it then and she regretted it, now. But what was one more regret on the pile? It was too late to change it. All she could do was take his hands, feel his hold, look into his face as his fingers traced hers, and know that he didn't blame her.

She apologized anyway, her whispered words nearly lost in ambient sounds: "And  _I am_  sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

She did, but of course he would say that anyway.

"Reina." Noct's voice pulled her away. He tucked a photo into the inner pocket of his coat as he stepped toward the door. "Ready to do this?"

Was she ready to fight the man—the monster—who had showed her the truth about Eos, about the Astrals, about her family and herself? Was she ready kill him for no other reason than a betrayal that should never have been? Was she ready to stand before him, look him in the eye after years of letting him believe she would stand beside him… and then betray him, herself, like everyone else had?

No.

But she was going to do it, anyway.

She pulled away from Ignis, taking a breath and giving Noct a single nod because she couldn't muster any words. Together they threw open the doors and stepped into the room beyond, where Ardyn sat on the throne.

Reina had all but forgotten about his so-called decorations until everyone else stopped.

"What—is that?" Prompto asked.

Ostensibly, it was Luna, Father, Nyx, and Emperor Aldercapt, hanging from the ceiling like some morbid chandelier.

Noctis snarled.

"They're just illusions," Reina said. She had walked beneath them so many times, they no longer even seemed out of place.

"Sick bastard," Noctis said under his breath.

Yes. That was the effect Ardyn had been aiming for, wasn't it? Indeed, as she looked across at him, now, it was to see the smile on his face. A cruel smile—not really any different from those before, except that once she had let herself believe he was softer.

"I'm afraid you're out of luck," Ardyn said as they approached. "I made my offer, little Dreamer. Now I'll kill you along with brother dearest, as I should have done ten years ago."

"You should have," Reina agreed. "What stopped you?"

"Boredom."

She smiled—so tired. "You can't lie to me, Ardyn."

Yes, he had told her it was because he wanted a challenge. But that first time they fought in Altissia, when he discovered she had none of the ring's magic, he had felt something he never admitted. Pity, perhaps. Kinship, even. At a stretch, the first sliver of empathy he had glimpsed in millennia.

He met her gaze and a snarl crossed his face. Yes. Of course he remembered it.

"Tonight I end  _my_ brother's line." Ardyn rose to his feet, the anger was gone and in its place was the familiar, oily contempt. "But first, let's eliminate the unnecessary baggage, shall we?"

Reina watched him throw out his power—watched the darkness leap from his fingers like a living thing to seek out Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis. His magic was black and tinged with purple.

Purple.

Perhaps she could have stopped it, but she didn't try because she had already Dreamed, dropping to her knees and feeling for Ignis' pulse to be certain it was still there.

They were safer this way.

The three of them fell, unmoving, on the stone floor. Noct spun to look at them; Reina didn't.

"They'll be fine." She took his hand, but she was still looking at Ardyn as he moved toward the open air to use the blasted-open hole as a doorway.

"You  _always_ ruin everything, little Dreamer. Didn't I tell you to stay home?"

She didn't answer because he already knew; she just smiled and said: "I'm sorry."

Maybe he knew what she meant. Maybe he didn't.

"Come, Noctis. Reina. Let me feel the true  _power_ of your crystal." Ardyn leapt.

They followed, leaving everything—everyone—behind and never looking back. It was a long fall down to the plaza, but distance meant as little as time, when they could fold it up and pass through how they liked. Noct threw his arm around her waist and they stepped off the edge, through the In-Between, and into the plaza, leaving only blue streaks and shadows to show where they should have been.

Ardyn awaited them below.

"The once helpless and hapless prince... his once jealous, inconsequential twin. One hundred and fourteen generations of distilled power versus two thousand years of the darkness that lurks in your little hearts… Let the games begin." He wasn't smiling anymore. He wasn't oily anymore. He was hungry and eager, like a starving man catching his first whiff of a feast. He held out his hand and his sword materialized—the same blade that made the fourteenth in Reina's collection.

"No. Now they end." Noct's sword was the same one Father had given him at sixteen. Perhaps some day they would call it the Blade of the Chosen.

"This is the end, Ardyn." Reina, too, reached for her naginata. That one, at least, would be lost to obscurity in the generations to follow.

Noctis moved first. Ardyn mirrored him but Reina hung back, watching the sparks fly as their blades clashed. Both thrust at the other and Reina felt the wave of power before Noctis came hurtling toward her. She caught his arm and turned one-eighty, redirecting his momentum to throw him across the square at Ardyn. Ardyn hit the neighboring building in a crash of splintering glass before Noctis barreled into him. They fell to the ground together.

Ardyn warped out from beneath Noct, but not before Noctis' blade found purchase. Black taint dripped from Ardyn's arm and spattered on the pavement. The cut didn't heal.

"Afraid to fight me, little Dreamer?" He deflected Noct's sword while Noct thought he was distracted. They locked together once more, hilt to hilt in a contest of strength. This time Ardyn forced Noctis back and only narrowly missed cutting across his chest as Noct phased out of the way.

"I take no pleasure in killing you."

"What a shame." Ardyn didn't look at her; he kept his eyes locked on Noctis as he pressed his advantage. "I will take  _great_ pleasure in killing you."

Noct swung. Ardyn stepped aside, phasing through his blade. He countered from the left and this strike found its mark, cutting through Noct's shirt until red showed beneath.

"Reina." Noct warped beneath Ardyn's next swing and landed near her. "You don't have to. This isn't your fight."

Ten years older and he looked so much like Father. He sounded a bit like that, too. But he was wrong.

This was her fight.

All her life she had hung back, content to stay in Noctis' shadow until he threw her out front. Even in the past ten years, all of this had been forced upon her. She hadn't chosen to take the throne—she hadn't  _wanted_ to take the throne—but it had been hers, regardless. Whatever she called it, she was their queen. And she had fought for them because she had no choice. Because if she hadn't fought then no one else would and the world Noctis returned to would have been no world at all.

Now he gave her the choice. Step up or stay behind. Fight beside him or cower in his shadow. Reign. Fight. Control. Or let someone else do it, like she had wanted all along.

Reina stepped forward.

For her kingdom, for her family, for her brother and her father, for all the kings she had never known before, for every child who had never seen the sun, for Ignis, for Cor, for Iris, she would fight. For the future. For the past. For Ardyn. He had said it himself, after all: they wanted the same things.

And what she wanted more than anything—more than a glimpse of the stars or the moon, more than the feel of the sun on her skin—was to set down her burdens, knowing the world would be safe.

And sleep.

Ardyn's blade shot toward the side of her face. It met her shield before she even turned and he slammed into the outside an instant later. She dropped the barrier and Noctis lunged forward. His blade caught air, cutting through red shadows of Ardyn instead of corrupted flesh. Ardyn took advantage of Noct's offense—it was difficult to phase while swinging a sword—and this time Noctis was in just the right place to take a blade to his clavicle, cutting through bone and sinew alike—crushing and crippling.

Until he wasn't.

After she watched it but before he did it, Reina was between them. She deflected the blow and locked eyes with Ardyn for just a moment—he was rage and he was hunger—before Noctis' sword cut into his side, forcing him to recoil and regroup.

They fell into place, together, that way. Never before had they fought so seamlessly: during practice they had been opponents rather than allies; in the months after the Fall, Noctis had fought while Reina lagged. Now they were twins in more than just name. They were the blade and the hilt; they were the staff and the glaive.

When Ardyn struck, she was waiting. It didn't matter if she could draw him into attacking her or not; she knew where he moved, she knew how he operated, and she knew exactly what he would do. With each opening she created, Noctis pressed their advantage. He stood wherever she wasn't, taking every hole, every weakness, every opportunity and turning it into blood. Black blood that stained his blade and hissed on the pavement.

If Ardyn had only accepted… they might have ended it all neatly and simply.

Then again. He wanted this fight, didn't he?

How long had it been since he was challenged? How long had it been since he truly felt the threat of death—truly felt  _alive_?

As he turned in the air and threw his hands wide, summoning his own unfamiliar arsenal of crimson weapons, she saw the truth on his face:

Too long.

Maybe it wasn't happiness like anyone else would define, but here, amidst Insomnia's crumbling remnants, fighting for his life and the future of Eos, he was invigorated. Perhaps it was the closest thing he could experience to contentment, by now.

They met him in the air and the blur of blades became a whirlwind. Three sets of Armiger—the blue of Lucis, the red of corruption, and Reina… halfway in between, simultaneously both and neither—clashed in a perpetual display of lights and energy. As before, violet blades blocked crimson while blue struck their mark, one after another. When Ardyn devoted his Armiger to deflecting Noctis', Reina turned offensive; when he set his sights on her, she simply made sure not to stand in the way.

Insomnia blurred beneath them. Ardyn sped this way and that; they pursued and found him waiting. His laughter rolled over her—so near and familiar, yet so far removed from every laugh before—Reina couldn't tell if it was in her ears or in her head.

"Little Dreamer…"

She couldn't tell if his words were in her head or not, either.

"Come with me, little Dreamer…"

At least not until Noctis fixed her with that look and she knew—if nothing else—at least he was hearing it, too.

"Let's finish this, Noctis." Reina held Ardyn's blades at bay as she met Noct's gaze.

He nodded just once and turned his Armiger as one—thirteen blades shooting through the sky to meet their mark and knock Ardyn from the sky. He crashed into the Citadel plaza and struggled to his feet.

So it began...

They landed after, touching down neatly as the power of the Armiger faded. But their forefathers were not gone. They watched over, always bound to the ring, and now they gathered closer sensing the conclusion at hand.

So would it end.

She felt their tug at the ring and she pulled back until they were manifest. Thirteen Lucii, visible in blue flame and godly armor. A hundred more pressed in, invisible, but present—lending their power, sharing their strength.

"The Kings of Yore are on hand. Calling you forth… to oblivion…" Ardyn uttered the last word as a man speaks the name of his beloved.

"You first." Noctis didn't glance among the Lucii. He felt them. He knew them.

They reached out to him and he took hold. He channeled Somnus and the Mystic's Blade struck true. He called Sophos and the Sword of the Wise tasted blood. He reached for Callidus and the Bow of the Clever responded.

Thirteen glaives. Thirteen Lucii. Thirteen marking the two thousand years that separated Noctis and Reina from Ardyn. As each one cut through his mortal form, more miasma bled out until a black mist hung around his body. And with the last lunge—Father's blade: " _Strike true, my son"_ whispering in their ears—Ardyn fell.

His last breaths came, wheezing and sharp, as he stared up at the black sky.

"Is this the future you would have, little Dreamer?" His eyes flicked toward her when she and Noctis drew close enough. "A sacrifice for the light. A blood debt to be repaid. And myself… erased from history once more."

Reina dropped to her knees beside him. She hadn't noticed the rain until the soaked pavement turned her damp pants wet.

"You know me, Ardyn. Always doing the wrong thing." She wasn't meant to cry, because he was everything that was still wrong with Eos. But she did, because he was also her. She took his hand—it was cold, now—and held it to her chest. "I'll make sure everyone knows the truth—about the Starscourge, about the Astrals, about the Caelums. About you."

When he smiled—a ghost, more than the real thing—it almost looked content. His hand moved in hers; it was a struggle to lift his arm but he did it, anyway, catching one tear from her cheek before his strength slipped and she caught him once more.

Noctis took a knee at Ardyn's opposite side and Ardyn's head turned.

"This time… you can rest in peace," Noct said. "Close your eyes. Forevermore."

So he understood, after all.

"I will await you…" Ardyn's eyes slipped shut; his hand stopped holding hers. "In the Beyond…"

And then he faded from her grasp; miasma and flame—the flickering embers of a half-life, ill-lived, as it faded from the physical realm.

Reina watched the spot where he had lain. Raindrops mingled with the tears on her cheeks, but her eyes dried.

"Sleep well, Ardyn."  _My friend. My lover. My self._

Now there was only one thing left to put right in the world.


	72. A Final Farewell

__

######  _17 August, 766:_

"Noctis…"

On the throne, reclaimed for Lucis.

That was Father's blade that plunged through his chest. That was blood that dripped from his lips. That was the picture he had taken from Prompto, clutched in his hand.

The Ring of the Lucii was gone. The crystal, still chained above the throne, was inert. And though she could still feel the In-Between at the brush of her fingertips, she knew without looking that all the spirits that had remained trapped for centuries were now laid to rest.

Father was gone. Out of her reach once more. Noctis was gone. Split from her forever. Ardyn was gone. Finally achieving that which he had striven for. They were at peace. All of them.

She should have been with them.

"Your Majesty?" Footsteps on the stairs behind her. She didn't turn, but her mind reached for the long-familiar response. And she stopped herself.

_Not while my brother draws breath_.

And now she was the Queen of Lucis.

No tears fell. Whatever remained of her soul was gone with those whom she loved more than anything in the world. Was this the life that lay in store for her? Putting Lucis back together. Salvaging Insomnia. Sitting on this throne that had claimed the lives of all of her forefathers and now her brother as well.

At least Ignis was safe. If she was uncannily lucky, perhaps he would even take her back. Perhaps she could salvage some contentment for him, if not for herself. They would have a son. And she would love them both as well as the tattered remnants of her heart could manage.

But always she would wait for that day. The last day. When she could finally let it all go. And fall asleep. Forever.

"Reina…" Ignis was behind her. She was still staring at Noctis.

She shut her eyes, blocking out the sight. How had this happened? It  _shouldn't_ have happened. She had meant for it  _not_ to happen. Everything had been planned out and then—

And then—

"This is a Dream."

That was the only way. The only possible explanation. The only way this could have come to pass because, given the chance, she would have saved him.

"I wish it was." Ignis' hand was warm on her shoulder.

"No. It is. I never would have made this choice, awake."

"What choice?" Noctis asked.

Reina opened her eyes and gave her twin a little smile. "There is no choice. There is only one way this can end."

She took a step forward, mounting the Citadel steps.

"What the hell are you talking about, Rei?" Noctis took a step after her. "Tell me you're not thinking what I know you're thinking."

"You always know my mind, Noctis."

He caught her wrist. "You can't.  _I_  am the one who has to do this; I'm the one they prepared."

"I wish I could tell you it mattered. I wish I could tell you that there was something about you that made you the One… but I can't. The power is here." She held up her hand, where the ring glowed faintly. "Our generation—you and I—we're just vessels. The power doesn't care who uses it."

"You can't know that!"

"But I do." She stepped back—cutting through reality and leaving him holding just a blue ghost.

"Reina—!"

"This is the way it should always have been. You return—you stay with your brothers and your friends—while I go on. Everyone gets what they want. Because the truth is, no one left on Eos would rather that I return in your stead."

"That isn't true." Noctis glanced toward Ignis, as if for confirmation. "Specs. Help me out, here."

"It…" Ignis only hesitated. It was the answer she had expected. The answer she had wanted. It didn't hurt as much as she had thought it would; instead it was a weight off her chest.

She could finally breathe again.

So she smiled and hoped he could hear it even if he couldn't see it. "It's alright, Ignis. I know that you love Noctis more than me; it's the only way. It's the right way. I expect no less from you, so don't ever apologize. Don't ever think you made the wrong choice."

She descended the steps, stopping in front of him and taking both of his hands in hers. He would miss her, she knew. If only she could have spared him that. If only she could have granted him the happiness that she could never have. But this was the best she could do for him; restore the sunlight, bring Noctis back to him, leave him to do what he had always been meant to do at Noct's side.

It was better this way.

"Reina…" He squeezed her fingers, then pulled one hand free to trace the outline of her face one last time.

"Just know that I did love you—I do love you," she said. "Everything you did… you were the only person who cared enough, who trusted enough. You were the only living person I could talk to. So thank you. You kept me sane. You reminded me of who I should have been, even if I couldn't be. But in the end… it isn't enough to make me carry on. So I make the same choice as you have."

His head was bowed, his chin on his chest. "If… this is truly what you desire…"

"It is."

"Then know that, though I cannot keep you here, I… have always loved you. And my love goes where you go."

She leaned up to him and he down to her. One last kiss.

His lips were just as soft as the first time. Just as sweet.

"You can't possibly—" Noctis looked between them. "This  _isn't true_ , Gods damn it. People care about you—"

Reina pulled back from Ignis. He held onto her hand until the last, even going so far as to take a few steps after her as she took the first stair. But he did let her go. Because he knew the alternative was worse.

"No, Noctis. Not anymore. Because that's how I made it. That's how I meant it to be. When Father died, my whole world ended—I would never wish that on anyone else. Better that they hate me."

Prompto's eyes widened. "You—! Everything you did? That was just… to get people to hate you?"

She smiled.

"Tell Iris… tell her I'm sorry. She was the best Shield any queen could have asked for and she deserved so much better from me. I still can't fathom why she stayed so long, but she did, so… so tell her thank you and that I'm sorry."

"Reina—" Noctis was scrounging up a new argument. She didn't give him the chance to form one.

"Tell Cor—" Tell Cor what? Of all the relationships she had ruined in the last ten years, that one hurt the most. His disappointment. His denial. His doubt. "Tell him it was always me, inside. And I always wished…. Well. Tell him it's not his fault. He could never have stopped this and I'm only sorry that I couldn't be as open with him as he was with me."

"And the others… Weskham, Cid… tell them I'm sorry, too. They never understood, but I didn't mean for them to. I hope they can forgive me; everything I did was for my people… for their future. However dubious my methods."

" _Reina—_ "

"Tell the Glaive that they have paid their debt in full. The Lucii forgive them. Father forgives them. I forgive them. I only hope they will serve Noctis as faithfully as they did me."

"Reina, you can't do this!" Noctis reached out to grab her arm, but she was already a step up when his hand closed on empty air.

"I already have, Noctis… you just haven't noticed, yet." Out of everyone, he would take it the hardest. She had known that. Out of everyone, she would miss him most. "I'm sorry, Noct. Of course, the people I want most to spare are the people it will hurt most, but it can't be helped. This is what I wanted. This is the only thing I have wanted for  _so long_. So please—don't deprive me of this. I can't hold on any longer. I'm going to be with Father again and we'll wait for you together—but  _don't you dare_ hurry to meet us."

His eyes were rimmed in red—too shiny.

"You belong here with your friends. With your brothers. You'll rebuild Lucis and make it even better than it was before, and people will love you more than they could ever have loved me. Stay here. Usher in the dawn. See an age of peace and prosperity rise from the ashes and after—and  _only_ after—when you're tired… when you're ready… I'll see you again."

She took another step backward up the stairs.

"I love you, Noctis. If you miss me… know that I am happier this way."

"Wait—Rei—" He took a step forward, but this time he didn't try to grab her. He held out a creased piece of paper—no. A picture. "To take with you."

She descended one step to take it from him. It was them. So long ago, before the sun had gone away, before she had given herself over to daemons and darkness. They were laying in the dirt, head to head, and sound asleep. When had Prompto even taken that shot?

Reina smoothed her fingers over the photo and smiled up at Noctis. "Thank you."

She turned so she wouldn't have to look at them as she went. The steps up to the Citadel weren't as long as they used to be. She reached the doors at the top and her feet took her to the right, automatically. The length of the throne room wasn't as austere.

"This is not what I wanted for you, my dear…" In this world, her father was more thought than form, but she could see him now, anyway.

"Father, nothing that has happened in my life is what you hoped for me." The steps up to the throne were littered with rubble. Someday, when this was all over, Noctis would put the Citadel back together.

"That is not true—"

"Regardless of what you do or do not want, those things happened. And it doesn't mean they were bad." She paused before the throne and looked at him. It seemed all her life she was doing things that weren't meant to be. Fitting, then, that her death should be the same.

"I did lie, though." She dropped her eyes to the throne. All those years only Ardyn had sat in it. "I will be the Queen of Lucis today. Right now. If only for a moment."

She brushed her fingers over the arm as she turned and took the seat.

"Reina—I  _cannot_ do this."

"Could you do it for Noctis?"

"I—"

"Father, do this for me."

"Reina—"

"You always said I never asked for anything, in all my life. Now I ask for this. This is what I want for myself. Please. For me."

He shut his eyes and bowed his head.

"There is nothing left for me on Eos. I just want to be with you, again."

"I had always hoped you would find something more worthwhile in the world than an old man's affection."

"I never did."

He looked up at her. "If this is what you truly desire…"

"More than anything."

"Then I will be with you again… quite soon." His formless fingers brushed her arm without touching; then even the feel of him faded from the room.

"Lucii… forefathers… come to me one last time."

Around the throne room thirteen figures formed in blue flame.

"Let me sleep."

The first glaive was a flash of blue light and a stabbing pain in her chest. Reina clenched her jaw and held to the arms of the throne. It was so close, now.

The second blinded her with searing white pain.

The third sent pulses through her body, forcing her hands to tighten.

The fourth left her ears ringing.

_Let me sleep_.

The fifth was the first and last time she cried out.

The sixth seared in her veins, setting her blood afire.

The seventh pierced her soul more than her body, transcending physical pain.

_Let me sleep_.

The eighth sent a shooting pain up her spine to the back of her skull.

The ninth was where her life flashed; her eyes flung open and images played before them, filling the throne room with light once more.

_Let me sleep_.

The tenth knocked the breath from her chest—a hammer against an anvil. It was the last breath she ever exhaled.

_Let me sleep_.

The eleventh was ice—spreading from her chest to her fingertips in deathly tendrils.

_Let me sleep_.

The twelfth severed her ties to the physical realm.

_Let me sleep_.

The thirteenth was her father's blade, thrust tenderly—lovingly—through her sternum, through her heart, and pinning her to the throne.

It didn't hurt.


	73. Beyond

The first thing she heard was laughter. An old familiar sound that had followed her in Dreams and out for ten years.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? A little Dreamer adrift In-Between. And here I was expecting dear Noctis to come for me."

This place was the In-Between, but it felt different. It was deeper than she had ever gone, before. Farther—closer to the edge that connected to the Beyond. And she had never felt so free. Only one last thing to do before she could sleep.

Ardyn was before her, given shape by thoughts. And so she, too, took form.

"Then again… You never were any good at doing what you were  _meant_ to do."

It was  _almost_ a smile on his face, in his voice.

"You should have known," Reina said, "That this is always what I meant to do."

He fixed her with a peculiar look, then gave a short, dark laugh. "The Gods declare: 'she shall be queen.' And so she resists."

He took a step toward her—or so it might have been described, if they were anywhere else. As it was, he was simply in front of her where he hadn't been, a moment ago. He took her chin in hand and tilted her face up toward him.

"Defiant to the last. My. Little. Dreamer."

"I thought you hated me," she said. No snark. Just quiet regret.

"I do. In the same way that you hate me. And yet, here we are. So ask yourself, little Dreamer: who has really won, today?"

With her death and his, the sun would rise and the daemons would be gone forever. That had been her goal, Noct's goal, the goal of every Lucii locked to the ring. So, too, would the Starscourge be eliminated. That had been the goal of the Astrals, in part. But—

"The Astrals are gone. Not even their spirits will be bound to Eos, anymore, with the covenants fulfilled. The crystal is gone as well, and with it every bond forged, every burden placed on our family. The ring will dissolve, freeing every soul of every Lucis Caelum ever to serve the kingdom—including you. The only power left in our bloodline will be that we held before. The only responsibility left will be to the kingdom. No more decrees from on high. No more soulless power demanding  _everything_. No more plague," Reina said. "So I suppose you got everything you wanted, after all."

"And you, little Dreamer?" He was still holding her chin, still smiling that twisted little smile. "Have you achieved your heart's desire?"

"I want to  _sleep_."

More than anything.

"And so we will." He leaned forward, closing the remaining inches between them, and kissed her. One last time.

"Now." He stepped back and spread his arms wide. "Be a darling and do for me what Daddy Dearest did for you."

"As you wish."

She flung her arms wide and the space shifted to her will as it had countless times before. It was no longer necessary to tug at the strings that bound her up with her forefathers; she was them. They were her. One hundred and thirteen generations of Lucian kings within her and without. They came from inside, tearing apart her soul to make space for their own.

_Once more…_

The Ring of the Lucii blazed on her finger. The heart of the crystal—all the power of Eos—lay in her hand. It demanded, as it ever had, a sacrifice for its aid. Raw power might be channeled, but it always scorched and scarred the conduit.

_Once more, and we can rest…_

She had paid the price so many times, let the untamed fire flow through her veins so often, that it hardly mattered anymore. What was one last time?

_All of us_.

It poured through her, charring skin and bone, bursting through tender tracks where it had run so many times before. The cracks in her skin reopened. The white-blue of her eyes blazed one more time. And they came, together, one hundred blades hidden among thirteen, to banish the darkness for the last time.

Ardyn's body recoiled with each collision. Miasma seemed to seep out of him, building a cloud of darkness even in a space that was nothing  _but_ darkness.

The pain blotted out her vision until everything was white spots, but this was the last pain she would ever feel. This was the last time. That made it good pain.

With each Lucii, a part of her dissolved. Those were their final acts and with them they were freed. One hundred and thirteen souls cut loose from the land they had been chained to for centuries. And with the final one, Ardyn, too, dissipated.

And then she.

_At long last…_

_I am free._


	74. Words Unsaid

> _We found you pinned to the throne with Dad's sword. Ten years, they told me, you had resisted it and in the end you died a queen, anyway. I'd like to say I stood solemnly before that sight and bowed my head in reverence—in respect for your sacrifice—but I won't lie here. I won't tell you I didn't take those steps three at a time to reach the throne and I won't even try to tell you I retained any sort of composure when I held you in my arms. Lifeless like a doll. Hell, I'll even admit that I tried to find a pulse. I knew I wouldn't, but something made me try, anyway._
> 
> _How many times did we hold each other through nightmares in the twenty years we had together? Too few. I wish we had just one more time, Reina. My sister. My twin. My better half. My heart and soul. I wish you hadn't suffered for those ten long years while I slept. I wish you could have found happiness. I wish you could have loved Ignis as much as you loved Dad. I wish I had come back to meet nephews and nieces. I wish you hadn't needed to sacrifice yourself._
> 
> _I wish you hadn't wanted to._
> 
> _I wish you had always known that Dad did love you more. I wish you could have seen what everyone else saw._
> 
> _I wish you could have seen Cor when I carried you out of the Citadel. How much he cared—that look on his face. I've never seen Cor look like that before. Hope I never do, again. He wasn't looking at anyone else. He did the same damn thing I did—searched for a pulse when he knew you were already gone._
> 
> _Never seen Cor cry before, either. I don't wish you could have seen that. You did what you had to do and I'm still trying to understand why you wanted to, but I know. I was ready, too._
> 
> _We watched the sun rise. First time anyone had seen it in years, Gladio said. There were kids who didn't know what it was._
> 
> _Iris met us coming out of the city. She took one look at me and shook her head. "Of course she did," she said, like she knew you were gonna do it before anyone else. Resigned, I guess. It's the only word I can think of. I still don't know the half of what happened out here while I was away. Don't think I ever will. No one's real eager to talk about it. But I know she loved you, once. She misses you. I think she's been missing you for a long time, though._
> 
> _Insomnia's a mess, but we're working on it. I don't think I can move back into the Citadel, yet. Went in your room just that once and changed my mind pretty quick._
> 
> _You did a good job. Everyone says Lucis would have been way worse off, without you. All those little outland villages turned into real towns with their own internal structure and government and… hell. I don't even know. You did good. People are going to come back and we'll make Lucis like it was again. I promise._
> 
> _We found Dad. Dad's bones, anyway. On his bed, but I don't think he got there himself. We put you with him in the mausoleum. I thought you'd like that. I keep trying to remember to bring flowers, but you know how I am. Ignis always beats me to it, anyway._
> 
> _They're talking about carving a new statue. All the magic went out of the Old Wall, but the statues are still there, standing guard around Insomnia. Cor said it's not right: the queen who gave the most for Lucis should be with them. With the Dreamer standing guard, we'll know the Crown City is always safe._
> 
> _Funny thing about the magic. The ring was gone when we found you and I can't use elemancy anymore. All those links I used to have inside are cut, and when I feel for them the Astrals are just gone. I guess you guys got rid of them for good. It's going to take some getting used to for everyone, but I trust what you did. It was for the best._
> 
> _I've still got the Armiger and there are fourteen, now. Thought I was imagining things, at first, but it was like it was always there and I never noticed. I don't know how else to explain it. But I'll tell you what—the next time I have to put Cor straight, I'll use your naginata. The Naginata of the Dreamer. Thought you'd appreciate it._
> 
> _I guess that's it. I miss you, Rei and I wish so many things for you. I hope, wherever you are now, you're with Dad. And you're happy._
> 
> _See you soon._
> 
> _(But not too soon, I know. I promise.)_

—A note, left at the foot of a wide sarcophagus bearing the likeness of a father and daughter set in stone.


	75. ???

Darkness closed in like nothingness. Not the swirling, twisting nothingness of the In-Between, which she could grasp and mold. Not the sweet nothingness of the Beyond. Just emptiness, as if she had fallen into her own soul and seen what lay within her heart.

This wasn't how it was meant to be.

She was supposed to pass through and find her father waiting for her on the other side smiling—melancholy, but pleased to have her in his arms again, anyway. But he was nowhere.

Straining, she could just catch a glimpse of the way forward. It was darkness upon darkness but she knew it would lead to the Beyond. If she could just pass through, she would find her father waiting for her, and Ardyn as well. She reached for it, but was held back. However she thrashed and pulled, it was out of her reach. A line of magic wrapped around her and stretched taut out into the nothingness in the opposite direction. Her own magic. She grasped it, intent on tearing herself free.

Instead she heard his voice.

" **Reina."**

Father?

Her own voice was swallowed up by the nothingness before she could make a sound. She held the strand of magic and moved with it instead of against it, turning away from the Beyond.

" **Listen to me, Reina. Just me, nothing else."**

She followed. He grew louder.

" _ **Hear me**_ **."**

"Father?" This time she heard her own voice, though it sounded too far away—outside of this great black emptiness and drifting in through the doorway.

Except it wasn't. It wasn't a gate she was walking through. That wasn't the pearly white of the great Beyond.

It was sunlight. And she was just opening her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. And you thought it was over.
> 
> Funny story. I've been working on this whole series for almost two years. Originally I thought it could have a happy(ish) ending; I expected Noctis would die as he does in-game, but there would be hope and sunlight and rebuilding Insomnia with Reina as queen. The more I wrote, however, the more I realized Reina was never going to have a happy ending after her father was dead. As soon as Insomnia falls, her chances of a happy ending are reduced to "Well, I guess I'll live with Ignis and wait until I'm dead," because all she really wanted was to die.
> 
> Well, contrary to popular belief, I am not a heartless bastard. I like happy endings, too. So I pondered less traditional methods. Time travel, since it's sort of built into the game but also hand-wavingly explained away, was a possibility. Or that trope that everyone hates where she wakes up and it was all a dream. Huh. Well. That had potential, given that the whole series is about dreams. I toyed with the idea on and off for a long time, never really making up my mind. "People hate that trope," I told myself, and then immediately responded "Yes, but it's not quite that trope. It's all a dream, sure, but her dreams are different. All that character development doesn't go down the drain because, to her, it actually happened. It's more like the Christmas Carol dream trope, which everyone loves."
> 
> Still, I wasn't convinced. By the time I decided on this ending it just seemed so perfect. It's bittersweet but it's exactly what she wanted. It's a good tone to end on. I couldn't decide if I really wanted to write the sequel. After all, no one—as far as I know—picked up on any of the foreshadowing that it was all just a dream from the start of Fractured, so I could brush it all under the mattress and pretend it never happened.
> 
> And then, last summer, I got really manic and wrote Restored in about a month.
> 
> At the end of which time I thought "Well, shit. I guess there's a sequel, now."
> 
> So… there's a sequel, now. And this chapter exists. And if you hate it, I'm sorry—but hey. Maybe Restored is really the Dream. And if you love it, you're welcome. I hope you enjoy Restored as much as I enjoyed writing it. The tone is much different than either of the other two fics. It's also much shorter. And so, I present to you, my spin on the fix-it fic and the beginning of a happily-ever-after. Maybe. ;)
> 
> Chapter one of Restored is up now. You can find it on my page.
> 
> BUT WAIT. Don't leave yet. This is important.
> 
> Episode 1 of the Fractured audio drama is going up tomorrow. You'll be able to find the link on my profile. So when you're done reading Restored, you can go listen to that and go aaaallll the way back to the beginning. This ain't your typical podfic: it's fucking fantastic. If you liked Fractured, you'll love it. If you skipped Fractured, it is a good way to fill in that gap. If you have friends that you want to force this fic upon—I mean, consensually coerce into reading this fic—the audio drama is a fantastic place to start. The voice actors are fantastic and the editing is (ahem) top notch (you're welcome). So be sure to check back tomorrow!
> 
> Now you may go read Restored.


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